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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24845182">Abridged For Your Convenience</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidConstellation/pseuds/corvidConstellation'>corvidConstellation</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), My Chemical Romance, The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Fabulous Killjoys Fusion, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - The Umbrella Academy, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Gen, Gun Violence, M/M, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:22:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>72,507</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24845182</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidConstellation/pseuds/corvidConstellation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikey's a time traveler (long story) who recently returned from the apocalypse (longer story) to stop a mega-corporation with the help of his brothers before the world ends in either 2008 or 2031 depending on your definition of "end of the world" (very, very long story).</p><p>(AKA: A Convoluted Integration of MCR's Albums, Music Videos, and Comics into The Umbrella Academy)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frank Iero &amp; Mikey Way, Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Gerard Way &amp; Mikey Way, Ray Toro &amp; Mikey Way</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Red Dawn Rendezvous</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>All chapter titles are from FriendOfTheMarauders’s wonderful Killjoy Dictionary, please give credit where credit is due!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>18 FEB 2015</b>
</p><p>Mikey wishes he’d listened.<br/><br/>Not to Father. God, no. <em> Fuck </em> that guy. But to Gerard, who - for all his own problems and demons and chaos that was his teenage years - always did manage to keep an eye on Mikey enough to know when he was moving too fast. It couldn’t always be helped. Training meant that Father forced you to use your abilities until you dropped, but he couldn’t force you to train with abilities he didn’t know about.<br/><br/>That little gray area was where Gerard lived. He knew just enough about how Father worked to trick the system. Gerard was amazingly skilled with his powers, but Father never knew that Gerard could do anything but <em> see </em>the dead.</p><p>Mikey was… not the same.<br/><br/>Unfortunately, where Gerard’s powers evolved in ways that helped him improve his own life (like being able to send ghosts to the great beyond when they got annoying), Mikey’s advancements were ones he couldn’t avoid using once he learned them, because they could save his brothers’ lives. He learned he could teleport without a running start and suddenly he was teleporting directly out of cover and behind enemy lines. He learned he could teleport further and suddenly he could hop back to the mansion for a weapon if Ray ran out of knives to throw. He couldn’t hide it once he used it once, and <em> not </em> using it was basically the same as intentionally putting his family at risk. Mikey just couldn’t do that.<br/><br/>So, with spatial jumps nearly perfected, he knew the next step was to warp time.<br/><br/>He did the research Father forced him to and reasoned that if he could jump through space, he was essentially reaching for and pinching together the fabric of spacetime. So, if he could jump press the spacetime together and move across space, why not poke a hole through the fabric and jump through time? </p><p>Father said ‘no’. <em> Gerard </em> said ‘no’.<br/><br/>He should have listened.<br/><br/>He stares at the end of the world and its capitalist death machine and last war that humanity will ever see.<br/><br/>There’s dead bodies in these trenches, zipped up in white body bags that match the shining white city on the horizon. The landscape is smoldering in fire that burns the sparse, arid undergrowth. Mikey spins in a circle. He doesn’t know where he is, or when he is, or why he’s landed in a war zone, but he knows that for one of the first times in his life, he is <em>scared</em>.<br/><br/>“Gerard?” Mikey shouts. “Ray! <em> Frank</em>!”<br/><br/>Nobody answers.<br/><br/>He coughs from the smoke, tears in his eyes. He doesn’t know how to explain it, but the world feels dead. Empty. “Anyone?”</p><p>That's when he learns he can't go home; that the equation he’d worked out to push himself forward in time apparently doesn’t work in reverse. He raises his fists and tries to find the inverse equation, but the power he conjures up does little more than rattle his arms dying out. He tries again and again, and calls out for his family, and looks around for help that won’t come.<br/><br/>And he breaks.<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <b>20 FEB 2015</b>
</p><p>From what he can tell, he’s landed in some kind of dystopia. After he picked himself off the ground of that scorched desert battlefield, he’d headed for the city in the distance. Luckily, it wasn’t a mirage.<em> Unluckily, </em> it was guarded by a massive wall, and he’d seemingly lost his ability to teleport with ease. He figured it out pretty quick, though, even if it took a whole day to gather the strength to make a relatively tiny spatial jump. And now, he’s in the city’s slums. Action is everywhere. People in white suits and masks patrol the streets, and every once in a while, fights break out and guns are drawn. Guns that shoot lasers and send civilians scattering. Mikey, too.<br/><br/>He’s not sure what he’s gotten himself into, but he knows they’re not good news.<br/><br/>He would go back to his own time in an instant if he could.</p><p>Mikey is hungry, but he pushes that aside. He has maybe another three days before he gets hungry enough to steal for survival. (Stealing, because the money being exchanged here is not any currency he’s ever seen, and he certainly doesn’t have any on him.)</p><p>He’s been slinking through alleys, trying to watch for clues as to where or when he is, why the world’s been fucked up, why nothing’s the same as he remembers. It’s difficult to say, though. You can’t just ask someone what year it is. That’d blow his cover. He sees the marks of changing times, though; the different currency, strange turns of phrase, new technology. If he were to guess, he thinks he must be a couple centuries—<br/><br/>“Hey!” yells someone at the end of his alleyway.<br/><br/>Mikey flinches, whipping his head around. A man, staring straight at him. Tall, broad, rolled-up bandana holding dark hair out of his eyes. Mikey starts looking for a place to run. This alley dead-ends into a building, and Mikey doesn't like his chances of breaking in to god-knows-where. He's cut off. Fuck, what he wouldn't give to be able to teleport freely again.<br/><br/>“Kid?” the stranger shouts.<br/><br/>“What do you want?” Mikey throws back, giving his most blank expression and tone.<br/><br/>“What the fuck are you wearing?”<br/><br/>Mikey blinks in surprise. He’s only spent a few days in this strange world, but he has yet to hear anyone curse like that.<br/><br/>The man walks forward. “Is that a school uniform?”<br/><br/><em> Technically yes, </em> Mikey thinks. He doesn’t say anything.<br/><br/>“I haven’t seen anyone wearing something like that in a long time,” the guy says.<br/><br/>“You haven’t?” Mikey muses.<br/><br/>“Not since before the wars,” he says. Then, he glances to the side. “Well, not <em> this </em> war. The other one.”<br/><br/>Mikey furrows his brows and keeps his mouth shut, not wanting to say anything incriminating about his lack of future historical knowledge.<br/><br/>“The <em> Helium </em> Wars, I mean,” the guy says, luckily. “Back in ‘08. I know a kid like you won't remember much, but it was only seven years for the rest of us. I'll tell ya too, things look different. Not just the way we wage war, but society, stumbling and scrabbling for scraps while our friends in white run the whole wide world. Not that the world’s much wider than one city.”<br/><br/>Mikey’s breath hitches. He’d thought he’d flung himself into a distant future after the collapse of modern society. Instead, he’s barely under <em>three decades</em> ahead of schedule.<br/><br/>“You okay, juvie hall?” asks the man. “You’re dressed a little shiny for strollin’ through slums. Need help getting home?”<br/><br/>“Don’t have one,” Mikey says flatly, trying to control himself.<br/><br/>The man looks instantly sympathetic. “I can tell you’re fresh outta the Underground, kid. All center-city, deadface and quiet. Are you even off ritalin?”<br/><br/>Mikey doesn’t know what that means, but he figures it’s a drug, so he nods cautiously.<br/><br/>“Guess that’s just what Batt City <em> does </em> to kids,” he sighs. He glances off. “Look, I’m supposed to be meeting someone soon.”<br/><br/>“That’s specific,” Mikey jabs.<br/><br/>“Everyone and their mother knows it’s Orwell/Big Brother,” the man grumbles.<br/><br/>Mikey’s eyes flash as he finally picks up on something. This guy must be fighting in the other war he mentioned. A war definitely explains the battle field he dropped into outside the city, as well as the ambush attacks on the white-clad cops. Maybe it has to be that way. Maybe they’re hopelessly outnumbered. And from what he’s just heard, he’s 90 percent sure it’s a matter of oppression. What the fuck else would Big Brother mean but government surveillance?<br/><br/>“What’s your deal?” the man asks curiously.<br/><br/><em> Hm. How to phrase things so as not to sound like a time traveler scrambling for disguise. </em> Mikey opens his mouth and starts, “I want out of the city. I need to ditch the clothes and figure out for myself what it’s really like. There’s more going on here than I’ve been able to see.“<br/><br/>The stranger’s face softens, and he offers a smile. “I can help with that. The name’s Doctor Death Defying.”<br/><br/>“Funny name,” Mikey mutters.<br/><br/>“All the best names are. Let’s get going, kid. You won’t be sunny for long when you’re hanging with Doctor D.”<br/><br/>“Don’t you want my name?”<br/><br/>“If you fight this war, you won’t need whatever name you <em> think </em> you have,” Dr. D says. “You’ll earn a brand new one.”<br/><br/></p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <b>29 FEB 2015</b>
</p><p>The desert is another world.<br/><br/>Doctor D takes him to a killjoy camp after a week of trading intel in the city. To get out in the first place, they had to sneak out through the security, but Mikey did what the Doctor said and followed his orders. Ran when he said ‘run’, hid when he signaled for it. Mikey hasn’t been around long, but he knows these motherfuckers in white are creepily organized and that getting in a fight wouldn’t be a good idea. So instead of head-on battles like he’s used to doing on missions, Mikey did his best to evade combat entirely. Even when a group of killjoy rebels went after a patrol right next to them - and by ‘went after’, Mikey <em>does</em> mean they lobbed a grenade - Dr. D put a hand across Mikey’s chest and shook his head. They waited until the surviving dracs got up and gave chase to the explosive rebels, and then they kept walking as if there hadn’t just been a skirmish feet away from them. After a painstakingly long night of crossing the city through shadows only, they finally slipped into the tunnels and out of the city’s walls. From there, it was just an hour's ride to the camp Dr. D had told him about.</p><p>“Doc’s back!” Someone shouts the second Dr. D steps out of the car.<br/><br/>Mikey slips out of the passenger seat and looks over the array of tents and cars huddled together out in the middle of nowhere. A clamor starts up as news of their arrival passes through the camp.<br/><br/>“C’mon,” Dr. D says to Mikey as he locks the car. “Time to introduce you formally.”<br/><br/>“Death!” shouts one killjoy, stumbling past a jeep towards them.<br/><br/>“Hey there sandpup,” Dr. D says, though he doesn’t stop walking. “How’s Banshee handling?”<br/><br/>“All kinds ‘a plus one. She stopped making that wheezing sound when she breathes,” says the killjoy. She trails behind Doc, following on the side Mikey’s not occupying.<br/><br/>“Good. I got some meds for her from the city. Take this,” Doctor says. He grabs a small prescription bottle from his pants and passes it over. “Give her one, and I’ll be over to check up tonight.”<br/><br/>“Thank you,” she says, and then slinks off.<br/><br/>“I thought it was just a name. You’re a real doctor?” Mikey asks, raising his eyebrows.<br/><br/>“Real as they come in the desert. Now, look alive. We’re coming up on the big shots,” Dr. D says. They approach a bonfire, where a number of cars are parked around so that killjoys can sit on the hoods as seats.<br/><br/>“D, welcome back,” one man says.<br/><br/>“Pick someone up?” another asks.<br/><br/>“I did. This’s Mike Milligram. Been with him a week or so. I’ve seen an explosion go off five feet from him and he didn’t bat an eyelid. Juvie hall, but damn good lookout. When we were out, he spotted half the drac patrols before I could even take a look around,” Dr. D says proudly. “Mike, this is DJ Hot Chimp, Miss Tiger Angel, Tommy Chow Mein, Sir Phillip Bludgeon, NewsAGoGo. They’re… the war generals, you could say.”<br/><br/>“Did you check his story?” asks the man in a blue suit. “Anyone could be center-city, especially if his cover is being a juvie. We don’t survive on trust, Doc. The kid could blast anyone in the middle of the night.”<br/><br/>“I actually don’t think I can blast anyone until someone hands me a gun,” Mikey says.<br/><br/>A good half of the fireside crew chuckles. “I think he’s fine, Tommy,” Dr. D says dismissively.<br/><br/>Mikey feels the sensation of being watched, and glances over at the woman in the green tank. She’s staring right at him, and doesn’t look away when he makes eye contact. Mikey frowns at the intensity. There’s suspicion, like Tommy, and then there’s… <em>this.</em><br/><br/>“You alright, Angel?” the blonde woman asks, elbowing the other woman.<br/><br/>“… shiny,” she says, looking down at the fire. But then, after another second, she looks back up to Mikey.<br/><br/>A hand pats Mikey’s back, and he turns to look up at Doc. “C’mon, kid. I’ll show you some places you can set up camp. Say <em>g’night</em>.”<br/><br/>“Night,” Mikey says.<br/><br/>“Alright, go back to makin’ war plans,” Dr. D says, leading Mikey away.</p><p>“They’re weird,” Mikey mutters.</p><p>“Well, Mike, they’ve got a lot on their minds,” D sighs. “But don’t worry about that. After you’ve been around a couple weeks and people start trusting ya, we’ll throw a raygun your way and start teaching you how to shoot.”</p><p>“I know how,” Mikey says. He thinks about how to explain his experience as a superhero without sounding like a fucking psychopath, then says, “I was younger, but my Father was a hunter before the wars. Taught me how to shoot real guns. I’m a good shot.”</p><p>“Rayguns ain’t the same as analog ones, but the skill transfers pretty quick,” D admits. “You ever ghost something?”</p><p>“Yeah. People, but not many,” Mikey says seriously.</p><p>“Did they deserve it?”</p><p>Mikey doesn’t know how to explain that either, so he thinks for a moment. He can’t just tell the truth, but he’s gotten this far into the conversation. Maybe if he keeps it vague enough that it could apply to this dystopian future… “I only ever killed people who threatened others.”</p><p>“B.L.I. threatens us all.”</p><p>“Then I’ll kill them too,” Mikey says.</p><p>Dr. DD nods approvingly. “I knew you were a good kid.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <b>29 APR 2015</b>
</p><p>D asks once about his past. Only once.<br/><br/>It’s when he’s laid up in a shack out in the desert, now severely injured and useless in a fight. He’s gonna be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, thanks to the damage done to his knee. He gave Mike his dog tags when he realized he couldn’t be on the front lines any more, and Mike wears them, but honestly it just makes him feel D’s absence more. Mike can only come back to D’s hide-out every once in a while. He’s needed on the front lines with Chimp and Newsie, where they call shots and make tough choices. Let alone what he contributes in a firefight. Nobody can fight like he can, can shoot like him. He’s careful not to let his teleportation slip, but he’d be a liar if he said he never used it. Anyway, all that responsibility means he’s very reluctant to take a break. Even if it is to visit his best friend.</p><p>But then again, it's not like D isn't Mike's favorite person. He's been living in the future for maybe two months now. D was the first person to see him here, and Mike latched on like a lifeboat. He doesn't think D knows how much Mike needs him, but in the absence of family (without Gerard, without Ray and Frank, without anyone who knows that he's <em>Mikey</em> or <em>Number Five),</em> D <em>is</em> family.<br/><br/>“Been a while,” Mike says after a long silence.<br/><br/>“That’s your fault, halo head.”<br/><br/>“I’m not a—“ Mike cuts himself off with a sigh when he sees D grinning behind his handlebar mustache. “Ha ha.”<br/><br/>“Lighten up, Milligram.”<br/><br/>“Lots of pressure out there. No time for jokes.”<br/><br/>“Without me, I bet there’s not. Want to give me the front line headline? Witch knows I won’t be hearing it from the phony nurse they’ve pinned on me,” D says. “I love the kid, but Pony don’t know when to tell it like it is.”<br/><br/>Mike sighs. “There’s so much death out there. ‘Joys get dusted left and right. It’s body bags all the way down, and those who don’t run end up in drac masks, bleached and slapped back on the battlefield against us as <em> ‘crows </em> . Everyone’s getting torn apart out there.”<br/><br/>“You don’t have to tell me,” D says, patting the arm of his wheelchair.<br/><br/>“Sorry,” Mike mumbles.<br/><br/>“That’s gravity for ya’,” D shrugs. “Legs don’t work, so the rest of me’ll have to do. I’m thinking of radio broadcast. Like I did pre-bombs.”<br/><br/>“Oh yeah?” Mike asks with mild interest.<br/><br/>“Yeah. Used to have my own station; ran mixes on weekends plus Tuesday and Thursday. Not that weekdays matter anymore,” D says. “Mixes and playlists. I’ll teach you how to run a station once this war’s over. All the crew’ll be radio hosts, and we’ll retire and let fresh new ‘joys take our place. Give you a proper veteran name too.”<br/><br/>“Is mine not good enough?” Mike asks, amused.<br/><br/>“Mike Milligram sounds like a juvie hall who doesn’t care. No killjoy’s gonna get a good first impression from someone who keeps his city name. What you need is something to show you’ve been through the bends and came around again. Something less ‘hall, more ‘joy. And I’m thinking you’ve earned a legit nametag. People are already floating around names to give ya. Any veteran of this war deserves a proper killjoy honorific.”<br/><br/>“Maybe after the war,” Mike sighs. He has no energy or motivation to share why Mikey - even when shortened to 'Mike' - has sentimental value. “It won’t be long. We’ll be completely pushed out of Batt City soon. It’d take a miracle to turn the tides.”<br/><br/>“Maybe so,” D says grimly. He pauses for a long while, then cuts his eyes over. “Say, Milligram, be a sweetheart and clear something up for me. You hate the city, yeah?”<br/><br/>Mike is a little offended. He hasn’t been here for long, but he’s seen it now. His first instincts were right, it’s a complete totalitarian state run by the corporation that built and ‘saved’ the city. He’s seen the way their drugs destroy people and turn them into perfect obedient workers. And he knows very well that it’s all for the profit of the businessmen at the top. The perfect money-making society where the consumers are imprisoned. Mike knows for certain that BL/ind is a <em>monster</em>. “Of course I do. Anyone who can think for themselves does. Why the hell would you even ask that, D?”<br/><br/>“But hey, don’t you got a family in there?”<br/><br/><em> Ah. That’s what this is about. </em> Mike hardens his face and leans back in his chair. “No. I don’t.”<br/><br/>“Don’t bullshit me,” D warns. “If not, how’d you end up in Batt City before the Helium Wars? Someone must’a brought you. You don't act it, but you're a kid.”<br/><br/>“I’m <em> not </em> lying,” Mike says, because he only lies by omission. “I ended up in the city by pure chance. My brothers didn’t survive the bombs. I’m sure of it.”<br/><br/>“You’re sure?”<br/><br/>“We lived in New Jersey,” Mike bites out. “They can’t possibly be alive.”<br/><br/>There’s a long pause, and Mike’s worried he’s let too much slip. That D will finally recognize the Umbrella Academy kid from the comic books, that his masquerade as a normal person will be up. But D clicks his tongue after a while and says, “… you know, I don’t think my folks are around either.”<br/><br/>“Let’s stop talking about family,” Mike sighs.<br/><br/>“Alright.”<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <b>7 JUL 2015</b>
</p><p>They do lose the war.</p><p>B.L.I. cracked down as the temperature hiked up, started hunting down every joy they could, dragged them to facilities. He had been in Zone 5 when they sent out the waves of countless dracs through the zones and city alike.</p><p>He thought if he could fight hard, he could cut through them. And he <em>did</em>. Cut straight into Batt City, through each of the zones, going solo and leaving behind hundreds of bodies in his wake. One of his arms got shredded to bits in the middle, but that didn’t matter. He was sure of it. Once B.L.I. gets their hands on him, he’ll get sent to factory reset. Not that he’ll be aware enough to enjoy it.</p><p>But for now, he’s captured and handcuffed and shoved into a paddy wagon among other captured joys headed for some B.L.I. building that would drug or mask everyone. It’s dark and uncomfortable and looming with grief. That’s when everyone starts talking, starts telling their stories because they all know they’ll be bleached soon.</p><p>“My crew tried to run. They got shot down and I stayed put, trying to keep them alive. But the dracs came and dragged me from the bodies,” one man says into the car.</p><p>“I told my wife to run. I should’ve ran with her,” one woman says.</p><p>“I left my family in Battery City to fight,” someone says. “I wonder if they’ll put me back once they wipe my head.”</p><p>“I wish they killed me. This fight was everything. This world’s only going to rot now that we’ve lost,” a familiar voice says.</p><p>Mike’s head snaps up. “Tiger Angel,” he calls. “That you?”</p><p>She barks out a surprised laugh. “Holy shit. Of course <em> you’re </em> here.”</p><p>“Can’t believe they shoved two leaders into one car. What’re the odds?” Mike muses.</p><p>The car of killjoys laughs a little hysterically, but then they all quiet down, probably eager to listen to the final words of those who lead the charge against B.L.I. in the first place.</p><p>“Angel?” Mike mutters. “You good?”</p><p>“I really wanted this to work out,” she says, wistful. “I wanted to work with what I was given. Being a killjoy gave me a life. Purpose. For a little while, at least.”</p><p>“You got regrets? Family?” some other joy asks. “Get it off your chest.”</p><p>“No family,” Angel sighs. “No regrets. Just sad that we couldn’t free the city.”</p><p>“There’ll be the zones,” Mike says. “Won’t be pretty, but I’m sure it’s possible to live there. Outside of B.L.I.’s reach.”</p><p>“How about you? You got family?” Angel asks.</p><p><em> Oh, plenty, </em> Mike thinks. He has six brothers, and he’s been drilling facts about them into his head every night since he dropped into 2015.<br/><br/>They all have superpowers. It’s a family trait. All children born spontaneously on the same day in 1980 from mothers who hadn’t previously been pregnant. Their Father <strike>bought</strike> adopted all of them like collector’s items in the hopes of building a crime-fighting team. It worked unbelievably well on paper and in the public eye.<br/><br/>Legally, all of his brothers are named after numbers with the last name “Hargreeves” tacked on to the end. None of them go by those names. Elena, their <strike>grandmother</strike> robotic nanny, gave them much better names, and Worm, their sentient gorilla bodyguard/valet, helped them track down the surnames of their birth mothers.<br/><br/><em>One Hargreeves - Bob Bryar.<br/></em><br/>Father’s favorite. He’d always intended for Bob to be the leader of the crime-fighting team, but all his grooming just made Bob diligent and obedient. Despite his loyalty to Father, Bob really did care about his brothers, and always had their backs even when he didn’t understand what they went through. And how could he? His superpower was just super strength. There wasn’t much for him to train besides lifting weights and wrestling with Worm.<br/><br/><em>Two Hargreeves - Ray Toro.<br/></em><br/>Projectile control and inhuman lung capacity and not much else, but Ray always made up for it by becoming more observant than any of them. Sure, he could throw a knife and make it pull a U-turn and a loop-de-loop before hitting a bullseye, or hold his breath for hours and hours, but Mikey always thought Ray shined brightest on a crime scene. He could look at a scene for five seconds and tell you what happened where. It made him very difficult to prank, which was probably a good thing in hindsight.<br/><br/><em>Three Hargreeves - Frank Iero.<br/></em><br/>Frank hated his powers from the start. On missions, he would throw himself into fights and go for hand-to-hand before he ever tried rumors. His power was that he could tell someone what he wanted and his mark would do it to their fullest ability. Anything from <em> ‘I heard a rumor you gave me your candy’ </em> to the much more terrifying <em> ‘I heard a rumor you didn’t report this crime’. </em> Father exploited Frank so relentlessly in their youth that Frank got turned off it completely, and rebelled hard and fast. Sneaking out at first, but then tattoos and piercings that couldn’t be taken back. Father nailed him hard with a punishment of prolonged training, but Frank never gave in to rules when he could bend them. That was just who Frank was. Smiles and tackles and middle fingers.<br/><br/><em>Four Hargreeves - Gerard Way.<br/></em><br/>Gerard was Mikey’s twin, but he was the older one, and never quite let that go. He could see ghosts who hadn’t moved on, and then he could <em>touch</em> them, and then <em>they</em> could touch the world, and soon Gerard could visit their dimension, seal them there, drag them back, and do just about anything you could think to do. Never showed it to anyone except Mikey. Always put himself down, always turned to art instead. He was literally haunted by the death that defined his life, but he tried so hard to help others before himself. Despite trying to hide it, that talent for leadership couldn’t be hidden from Father, who promptly demoted Bob and appointed Gerard their leader. He was a good leader too. And a good <em> brother</em>. Mikey misses him most of all.<br/><br/>Five Hargreeves is <em>him</em>, and Mike’s pretty sure that if he forgets that, all the other stuff is lost anyway.<br/><br/><em>Six Hargreeves - Otter Pelissier.<br/></em><br/>Otter— or, technically, Matt. But Frank saw him jump in a public water fountain on a dare one time and called him an otter and nobody’s ever let the joke die. Devotion and power and terror all in one, wrapped up in a messy, well-meaning bow. Otter’s body was a portal to an eldritch dimension. His powers could only ever be used for lethal force, which upset him. But he’d decided that using his powers for the greater good was best. Everyone secretly thought that idea was implanted in him by Father, but Otter never listened. Otter was a stubborn motherfucker when it came to his decisions.<br/><br/><em>Seven Hargreeves - Brian Schechter. </em><b> <em><br/></em> </b> <b> <em><br/></em> </b>Brian was simultaneously the least and most useful member of the team. Father never let him join missions because he didn’t have a superpower, but Brian was trained in academics and strategy just like the rest of them. He became an amazing multitasker who could disassemble an issue and provide a step-by-step plan along with ten alternate ones just for good measure. Brian was overlooked and constantly stifled, separated from them by schedules and training and missions. But he always had a plan if you just bothered to ask what he thought.</p><p>“Haven’t seen them since the world ended,” Mike says, finally.</p><p>“You and I weren’t supposed to fight this war,” Angel says. “But it’s salt in the wound that we lost it anyway.”</p><p>Mike breathes out through his nose and lets his head hit the van wall behind him, rattling his skull.</p><p>“You better wake up after they bleach you,” Angel says, low and deadly serious. “Cause I know if you wake up, you can escape. I know what you can do.”</p><p>“What I can—?“</p><p>“I <em> know</em>,” she says slowly. “I know what you are. And obviously, if you can get <em>out of sight,</em> you can <em>escape</em>. So when you’re free again, <em> fix this mess</em>.”</p><p>And Mike doesn’t know what she knows, but right after she says that, the van pulls to a stop and the doors fling open and two dozen crows start dragging killjoys out. In the chaos, Mike loses Angel, but he focuses on her words. She’s right.<br/><br/>He can’t forget what he’s fighting for.<br/><br/>He just has to survive long enough to get back to them.<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <b>6 JUN 2008</b>
</p><p>
  <b>FRIDAY</b>
</p><p>Fifteen years later, Mikey tumbles into 2008 in a body that’s half his age.<br/><br/>He also lands face down in the dirt of the courtyard.<br/><br/>“Motherfucker,” he groans, pushing himself up and to his feet. His head is pounding, and he can already tell that it’ll take a few strong drinks to shake it off. He’s wiping the soil off his arms when he realizes he has an audience.<br/><br/>A familiar audience.<br/><br/>“<em>God</em>,” Gerard says, voice breaking on the word. “I thought I w’ld be fine just bein’ drunk.”<br/><br/>“Gee,” Mikey whispers. He starts forward, eyes locked on the bleach-blonde adult Gerard in front of him, wearing all black and looking nothing like he did when Mikey last saw him. <em> Either </em> of the last times.<br/><br/>Gerard shakes his head, tears in his eyes already streaming down his face. “Fuck, no— guys, y’ <em> need </em> to let me get high. I know wh’ I said, but I see—“<br/><br/>“I see him too,” Frank cuts in, grabbing Gerard’s arm in a vice grip. His eyes are fixed on Mikey, though. “Little Mikey? Standing right there? Gee, unless you’re manifesting—“<br/><br/>“<em>Little— </em> ?” Mikey repeats, and only then does he see the fringe in his periphery. His hair’s entirely brown, no streaks of dye in sight. He looks down at his hands, tiny and shorter and so much thinner than they’d gotten with his time in the future. No scruff on his chin. Barely any muscle mass on his skinny frame. And his clothes don’t fucking fit, just to top it off. He should’ve expected this, but it still sucks. “Shit.”<br/><br/>And then he’s being hugged very hard, and he struggles against the weight, not recognizing it, but he turns towards the mass and sees short blonde hairs nearly poking his eye out and he realizes it’s just Gerard. An unfamiliar Gerard, but still him, and so Mikey brings his arms up and holds on.<br/><br/>“Fuck, hey Gee,” Mikey says.<br/><br/>“You were gone. I <em> needed </em> you! And you were <em> gone</em>,” Gerard shouts over Mikey’s shoulder as he clutches so hard at his jacket that Mikey can feel the fabric bunching, tugging his shoulders back as the arms bracket and crush his frame.</p><p>“Hey, woah,” he mutters. “Calm down, breathe, Gee. Breathe.”</p><p>“Fuck, Mikes, it’s really you,” Gerard says. His voice cracks on it, going hoarse, but he just tucks his head down and presses closer.</p><p>Mikey looks back at the others for help, because he’s taking stock and all his brothers seem to be here except Otter. He doesn’t find the help he expected. Ray doesn’t roll his eyes and pry Gerard off, and neither does Brian, and neither does Bob. Everyone’s staring at him with wide eyes and gripping each other’s shirts and holding on tight.<br/><br/><em> Oh</em>, he thinks. <em> I was <strong>gone</strong>. </em> <em><br/></em><br/>“What happened?” Ray asks, tears in his eyes. “Where did you go?”<br/><br/>“I—“ Mikey shifts against Gerard’s weight. Gerard seems to have no intentions of letting go. It’s a little unfamiliar because of how long it’s been, but the mass of him feels like home in a way the red-haired version of him never did. “It’s a long story. But— why are you all home? When we were sixteen everyone wanted to get out of this place, start a new life. Or, almost everyone. No offense, Bob.”<br/><br/>Bob shrugs stiffly. He’d always been the one to obey Father, even when he didn’t like it.<br/><br/>“Oh. Uh. Father died,” Brian says. “We were gonna hold a funeral today or tomorrow, so we all came back.”<br/><br/>“Oh,” Mikey says, blinking. He hadn’t known that. “Natural causes?”<br/><br/>“Seems that way,” Frank says, looking over to Bob. <em>Weird, but whatever.</em><br/><br/>Mikey nods. “I guess a funeral’s a good reason for a family meet up. Almost got everyone here, assuming Worm is inside.”<br/><br/>“Almost?” Ray asks with confusion.<br/><br/>“Huh?”<br/><br/>“You said ’almost’. Mikey, we’re all here,” Ray says.<br/><br/>Mikey does a headcount again and frowns. He counted correctly. “Uh, where’s Otter?”<br/><br/>Everyone goes very still, especially Gerard. Mikey can tell by touch alone that Gerard’s breath hitches. Mikey, confused, tracks all of their gazes across the courtyard, behind him, where—<br/><br/><em> Oh— </em><br/><br/>A statue of Otter stands, bronze and tall.<br/><br/>“What—“ Mikey cuts off. He knows what a fucking statue means. This isn’t the reaction you have when your brother becomes wildly successful and has a glory statue. This is a <em> memorial </em> . But Gerard’s whole thing is handling the dead. Mikey pushes Gerard back, just enough to grab at his arms and look him in the eye, but Gerard’s face is set now, pale and serious even if it’s still tear-sticky. “Is he—? Can you see him? What happened?”<br/><br/>“Mikey, I banished him,” Gerard says firmly. “He’s gone.”</p><p>Mikey steps away, towards the statue. It’s tall, and a little worn, and the engraving says:</p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>MATT HARGREEVES</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>May the darkness within you find peace in the light</b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>He blinks at the plaque, then turns back to the others. “I can go back. When did he die? I can go back to then and fix this—“</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Frank says hurriedly, taking a few steps forward. “No, Mikes. It’s complicated, and I don’t expect you to understand, but he has to stay dead.”</p><p>Though he doesn’t know what that means, Mikey’s not unobservant. He sees the way none of the others object. They’re all on the same page that Otter should stay dead, and Mikey can’t remember the last time he’d seen <em>all</em> of them on the same page about something. That, plus the fact that he has no idea what happened, plus the oncoming apocalypse… he can do the math. Mikey can’t save his entire family. He closes his eyes and breathes. There’s a story here, but he’ll get it in time. There’s more important things.<br/><br/>“Mikey, talk to me,” Gerard demands.<br/><br/>“Let’s move this inside,” Mikey sighs. “It’s a long story.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So! This is the start! I know that I’ve mixed up the roles of certain characters and messed with the apocalypse, but honestly it’s bc I didn’t want to just rewrite all of TUA into fic form. So, different mystery elements, different relationships, lots of the same plot beats but hopefully different enough to keep you interested :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Keep Runnin'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>jsyk most of this fic is intended to be imagined w/ a teenage Mikey in the I’m Not Okay uniform and everyone else in mid-Black Parade Era</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>FRIDAY 22:46</strong>
</p><p>They pile into the kitchen on default while Mikey raids their food. He sits heavily at the end of the table, shoving marshmallows in his mouth and occasionally getting up for another snack he’s missed sorely.<br/><br/>“Mikey,” Frank snaps after a couple trips. <br/><br/>“Hm?” Mikey asks. <br/><br/>“The fuck? What <em> happened </em> to you?” Frank shouts. “It’s been fucking <em> twelve years!” </em> <em> <br/></em> <br/>“Top left?” Mikey asks curiously. “Huh. It’s been sixteen for me. Guess you’re my little brothers now— oh fuck, I forgot about Oreos—“ <br/><br/>Mikey teleports out of his seat over to the cabinets and shuffles around until he finds a blue box-tray-thing and drags the whole thing over to the table, which has a growing collection of snack foods. <br/><br/>“Witch,” he mumbles around his first bite of an Oreo. “This’s much better than Power Pup.” <br/><br/>“Mikey, <em> focus </em> ,” Bob says with barely any restraint, as if he’s just barely short of snapping too. <br/><br/>“Okay, fine,” Mikey says, putting the food down. “What do you want to know?” <br/><br/>“How did you get back? And if it’s been sixteen years for you, why are you—“ Brian gestures at Mikey’s body. <br/><br/>“Still a fucking teen?” Mikey guesses. “Turns out time travel sucks, and something seems to go wrong every time. In the interest of priorities, I focused on the target instead of the transportation. So, when I came to 2008– hang on, it is 2008, right? June?” <br/><br/>He gets some nods.</p><p>“I was spot on then. I traded the continuity of my physical body for stability, and so I guess I ended up in a form that helps the universe make sense of time travel. Namely, the most recent form that linear time has seen. Obviously, my most recent form was from ‘96, when I left. When I was a teenager. So even though it’s not continuous for me, it is for time, which was fucking helpful in making sure I didn’t miss my mark. Any other questions?”<br/><br/>“So many,” Ray says quickly. “Where did you go? What happened, Mikey? We’ve been wondering for so long.” <br/><br/>Mikey meets his eyes. “You mean ‘when’.” <br/><br/>“Then <em> when </em> did you go to?” Gerard says, rubbing a hand over his face. He has shadows under his eyes and a bottle of clear liquid on the table in front of him and the most exhausted expression Mikey’s seen in a while. “Get to the point.” <br/><br/>“The future. 2015. It fucking sucks,” Mikey says mildly. <br/><br/>“But what happened?” Gerard asks, upset and shouting and slurring. “We thought you got torn apart! You d’sapp’red and I told everyone ‘bout your time thing when you didn’t come back ‘cos I thought you’d come back soon! That y’ just fucked up th’ timing! Did you— did you fuck it up <em> this </em> bad? Did you get <em> hurt?” </em> <em> <br/></em> <br/>“No,” Mikey says. “No, I was just in the future. I was there for years.” <br/><br/>“Why didn’t you j’st come back?” Gerard shouts. <br/><br/>“I couldn’t,” Mikey says quickly. He breathes out through his nose and concedes that he has to offer comfort before logic here. Gerard won't understand why he had to stay. “It’s— at first it was my powers. They stopped working for a while, but then I— look. It’s a long story. I have reasons for what I did, why I chose to come here now, why I couldn’t and didn’t come back sooner. Gee, I promise it wasn’t personal.” <br/><br/>“You did a number on this family anyway,” Frank mutters. <br/><br/>“You know, it’s not <em> Mikey’s </em> fault that <em> you </em> gave up and ran away,” Bob says, glaring down at Frank. “So you can stop blaming your issues on everyone else.” <br/><br/>“I have the least issues of anyone! I’m literally the only normal one here. And I’m <em> not </em> obligated to put up with this crackhead family,” Frank hisses. <br/><br/>“Hey, no need for—“ Brian interjects, unheard. <br/><br/>“Yes, you are! That’s what family <em> does </em> !” Bob shouts. <br/><br/>“Hey, both of you,” Ray barks. “Cool it! Tensions are high right now—“ <br/><br/>“Tensions are always high!” Frank shouts. “That’s why we haven’t <em> been together </em> since Otter’s <em> fucking </em> funeral!” <br/><br/>The room goes silent at that. <br/><br/>Mikey stares around at everyone, wondering what the fuck happened to his brothers. He remembers childhood as a special form of hell, where Father pushed them all to extents far past what a child should experience, but the silver lining was that at the end of the day, they could fall back on each other. Sneaking out for donuts and making fun of Father and cheering each other up. Passing notes in class. Facing both bad guys and adoring crowds together as a team. <em> This… </em> this isn’t what he remembers. <br/><br/>It’s been a long time, though. <br/><br/>Gerard stands slowly, raising a finger and shaking it at Frank. “I th’nk the problem is, you—“ <br/><br/>“Gee,” Ray says firmly, setting one hand on Gerard’s shoulder and the other directly clamped over his mouth. “You are very, <em> very </em> drunk. Now would be a good time not to start a fight.” <br/><br/>As Gerard argues something muffled by Ray’s hand, Frank’s face twists. “No, let me hear what the bastard has to say about me.” <br/><br/>“Oh, fuck you! We’re all bastards! We’re g’netic freaks,” Gerard shouts once he pries Ray’s hand away. <br/><br/>“We can’t be a functional family together for one night? Really?” Bob asks. <br/><br/>“You started it!” Frank yells at the same time that Gerard says, “Oh, that’s rich, coming fr’m you, bootlicker!” <br/><br/>The shouting starts up all at once, the three of them going at each other relentlessly about whose fault it is that nobody keeps in touch and who has responsibility and it’s such bullshit that Mikey goes back to his chocolate pretzels instead of listening. <br/><br/>Brian has his head in his hands, and Ray is trying valiantly to break it up, but he’s not capable of shutting all of them up, so he mostly keeps pushing Gerard to sit down. <br/><br/>“Mikey’s been gone f’r half our lives and I bet all y’r thinkin’ ‘bout is walkin’ right out that door ‘s soon ‘s physically p’ssible,” Gerard screams. <br/><br/>“Fuck. You,” Frank huffs. <br/><br/>“We should all get some rest. Sleep on this. We have time,” Ray interjects. “We have time to hear Mikey’s story.” <br/><br/><em> No we don’t, </em> is Mikey’s first thought, and then his heart skips a beat as panic slams into him at full force. <br/><br/>“What’s the date?” Mikey asks sharply, startling the entire room into silence. “Exactly. What is today’s exact date?” <br/><br/>“Uh— June sixth? 2008?” <br/><br/>“We don’t have time,” Mikey realizes quietly. “We have seven days until World War III is provoked.” <br/><br/>“… fuck,” Brian mutters. </p><hr/><p>Mikey retreats to his old bedroom for a couple of minutes while his brothers sort themselves out. He’d like to say he needs a break from it (and he does; the last people he’s been around who argued that much were the Vs and <em> Destroya </em> those punks were annoying) but the truth of the matter is that he needs a change of clothes.</p><p>Firstly, because his body is sixteen again, so his clothes don’t fit. It’s not pleasant, by the way. All of his physical traits have transferred over (his Better Living standard lasik, his burn-marks from raygun shots, his tattoo and the skin graft marks on his left arm are all still right where he remembers them being). However, it feels like it’s not his body, because any time he moves his arm, he expects a greater range, a larger mass, more resistance that just isn’t there. Not on this skinny body that doesn’t fill out his own clothes. The other, more pressing reason for a new set of clothing is that there’s a scorch mark that drills through the back of his jacket, and someones bound to notice it eventually.</p><p>Mikey opens his closet and groans.</p><p>“For Witch’s sake,” Mikey complains to his empty room. “I get clean clothes for the first time in a decade-and-a-half and it’s all school uniforms?”</p><p>His closet is entirely filled with his suit jackets from the Umbrella Academy uniform. <em> At least it’s not white, </em> he thinks.</p><p>He reaches for the button-up and the gray slacks and the red-lined jacket and the black-and-red tie and puts it on, though. His body may be gangly and jarringly unfamiliar, but having clothes in the right size makes it bearable. Even if he’d gladly wear a hoodie or leather jacket instead, this is bearable. And accessible. And <em> his </em>.</p><p>Someone knocks gently on his door and he turns to watch as Bob nervously cracks it open. “Hey, Mikes.”</p><p>“Bob,” Mikey says in return while he does up his tie. He flashes his eyes over Bob, who was always big, but now has a physique closer to Worm’s than Ray’s. He wonders if it’s a late-blooming part of Bob’s powers. Or maybe he never really stopped growing, and never will. “You look bigger than you did.”</p><p>“Well you look exactly the same,” Bob shrugs. “It’s weird all around.”</p><p>Mikey huffs out a brief chuckle and pulls the jacket over his shoulders. “You do realize that I grew up too, though?”</p><p>“Yeah, no we get it. Or I do, at least. I’m more concerned with the part where the apocalypse happens. Which, now that I’m on the topic, you left pretty suddenly, dude. Mind explaining?”</p><p>“Yeah, I will,” Mikey says as he does up his tie. “I’ll give everyone the run down in a minute.”</p><p>“Alright. Oh, and hey, do you need a pair of glasses?”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>Bob points to his own eye with a frown. “You aren’t wearing your glasses.“</p><p>“Oh. Yeah, I don’t need them.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Long story,” Mikey shrugs. “Let’s go grab our brothers.”</p><hr/><p><br/><br/>Mikey ends up in one of Father’s old classrooms with a dry erase marker in his hand, drawing out a timeline. He puts tick marks every five years between 1980 and 2030 and circles a few years he thinks are important. Behind him, the family chatters and argues, but this time it's all at a reasonable volume and doesn't seem to get too heated, so he doesn't interrupt until his timeline diagram is ready. <br/><br/>“Okay, so listen,” Mikey begins. <br/><br/>Frank snorts. <br/><br/>The entire room turns to Frank, glaring and confused. <br/><br/>“Sorry,” Frank chuckles. “It’s just, like. Fuck, look at him. Mikey’s our substitute Worm for the day. It’s just like old times, boys.” <br/><br/>“Classes have their use,” Brian says smoothly, turning back to Mikey. “Go ahead.” <br/><br/>“Thanks for the permission,” Mikey deadpans. <br/><br/>He slashes a big <em>‘X’</em> over 2008. <br/><br/>“You are here,” Mikey says. “This is a critical year where a corporation is formed that will directly lead to the end of the world. Bottom line is that we need to stop that, because unless someone stops them, they’re gonna start World War III and set off global nuclear Armageddon at six PM on Friday.“ <br/><br/>Mikey draws an arrow to 2010. <br/><br/>“The Helium Wars last until here, and it’s <em> this </em> long until —“ <br/><br/>And another arrow to 2012. <br/><br/>“-the world stops exploding and just burns. The Great Fires. Almost all major cities are gone at this point. And then after 2012, nuclear winter smothers absolutely everything. All rural settlements gather too much radiation to be habitable. At this point, humanity is effectively dead except for this little bubble of California, where they have long-distance shielding technology. You still with me?” Mikey asks. <br/><br/>Everyone nods, even if they’re frowning with concern. So, Mikey backtracks to earlier in the timeline. <br/><br/>“I know all of this because when I left here—“ Mikey draws a circle over 1996, and from it draws out an arcing arrow that lands above ‘15. “I actually landed in the middle of the war at the end of the world. From there, I lived in a dystopia all the way until 2031. That’s when—“ <br/><br/>Mikey swallows. <br/><br/>“Well. Uh. Actually, there’s a lot to explain <em> exactly </em> what made me leave right then, but my point is that I spent all this time gathering as much information as I could,” Mikey says, waving between 15 and 31. He draws another arcing arrow under the timeline until it points from ‘31 back to ‘08. “So now, we have stuff to get done to change the future so the world doesn’t end.” <br/><br/>“How do we know what’ll stop it for sure?” Brian asks. <br/><br/>“We sabotage their initial goals and kill the Director,” Mikey says, crossing his arms. “Getting her dead is key. She’s irreplaceable and indispensable to the industry. Without her I’m sure things would be postponed long enough to dismantle the espionage side of it. And her employees won't set off nukes without her permission, so.” <br/><br/>”And what are we looking out for?” Bob asks. <br/><br/>Mikey sighs. “Okay. Killing the director will be hard, given that there was no record of who she was pre-Helium War in the future. So we have to find her by finding other B.L.I. operatives first. They’re all kidnapped, or recruited, or hired, or brainwashed, I never found out how they recruited at first either. Let alone their scientists. Wish I knew how they figured that shit out so fast.” <br/><br/>“Hold up. Brainwashed? Really?” Frank asks. <br/><br/>“Brainwashing is kinda B.L.I.’s thing,” Mikey says. <br/><br/>“Blye?” Ray asks, raising his eyebrows. <br/><br/>“Sorry, zone slang,” Mikey apologizes. “It’s an acronym. They’re called Better Living Industries. B-L-I. B.L.I. Sometimes you can just call ‘em BL/ind, but it’s whatever.” <br/><br/>Ray sighs. “Well, that’s not much to go off, but it’s something. I can go see if the station has anything on this Better Living. If they’re shady and tangled up with kidnappings, maybe there’ll be some open investigations I can look up.” <br/><br/>“The station?” <br/><br/>“I’m a detective. Or—“ Ray flushes. “Was. Got fired for questioning the system a little too much for their taste. But I still have some connections.” <br/><br/>“What the fuck? Okay, surprising life developments aside, that’s a bad idea. Don’t do that.”</p><p>“What? Why?”</p><p>“Ray, they’ll be monitoring all things that could ruin their plans, including curious cops. Don’t put yourself on their watch list,” Mikey frowns. “Anyone else have any unexpected connections I should know about?”<br/><br/>“I have a guy who sells the best angel dust,” Gerard says. <br/><br/>Mikey grits his teeth. He’s got bad associations with those words, even if he’s pretty sure all they mean in 2008 is PCP. Not that <em> that’s </em> good either. <br/><br/>“Not helpful,” Bob mutters. <br/><br/>“Definitely not,” Mikey agrees. <br/><br/>“C’mon, let’s get you to bed, Gerard,” Brian decides, stepping forward. “It’s too late to be up.” <br/><br/>“I should get going,” Frank says. <br/><br/>“Running already?” Bob sneers. <br/><br/>“I have a dog,” Frank retorts. “And a house, and a life to get back to. Excuse me for having my shit together.” <br/><br/>Mikey thinks his jaw would have dropped if he were anyone else. <br/><br/>“Have fun pretendin’ t’ be normal,” Gerard says. <br/><br/>“He means ‘goodnight, Frankie’,” Ray translates. “Get home safe.” <br/><br/>Frank glances at all of them and shakes his head. “I hate all of you. See ya, Mikey.” <br/><br/>And then he’s out the door, followed by Bob storming out, followed by Brian dragging Gerard out. Ray crosses his arms. “So, I’ll just… you sure about the police reports?”</p><p>“Yeah. They’ll notice if you do.”</p><p>“Okay. I guess I’ll go get back to work. See you later, Mikey.”<br/><br/>And then he’s gone too. </p><hr/><p><br/><br/>The donut shop is quiet. At 2 AM, he sits on one of the stools nursing a coffee and staring at the rack of donuts behind the counter. Nobody’s here but him, and the waitress who’s getting his change from the back room.</p><p>It’s sort of funny, in a kind of way that isn’t humorous at all. Mikey’s lived so long, and he doesn’t remember a single detail from any of the Umbrella Academy missions. There were comic books that knew more about his crime-fighting adventures than him. But it’s because after he saw the apocalypse, none of those memories held a candle to memories like this place.</p><p>When he closes his eyes, Mikey can remember coming here as a kid. Gee would beg and beg until he finally agreed, and he would help them escape the house by teleporting to knock something over so Elena would investigate. While she was distracted, the seven of them would run out the garage door and out into the streets, far too pleased with themselves and their escape. And then, with allowance money they would line up at the bar and order donuts until someone got sick and they went back home. Sometimes Worm would catch them coming back in, but he never told Father. Not once.<br/><br/>The door jingles open. <br/><br/>Mikey glances at the service bell on the counter and catches the reflection of nearly a dozen white suits spreading out in the room behind him. <br/><br/>“You guys were almost late,” Mikey sighs, taking a long drink of his coffee. <br/><br/>“We pride ourselves on swift execution of orders,” says the only one of them without a mask over his head. <br/><br/>His fingers inch forward on the counter, seeking out the butter knife nestled between the spoon and fork. Meanwhile, Mikey looks over his shoulder. He’s not surprised in the least. He’s been expecting this. “That’s what you’re here for? Execution?” <br/><br/>“The job title is technically Exterminator,” the man says with a toothy grin. It’s not a man Mikey recognizes, but that was also expected. “Though, we will accept surrender, kid. You’ll be brought back to headquarters, where we can ask you information about the terrorist we know you’ve been aiding. But if you put up a fight, I have express permission to return with you in a body bag instead.” <br/><br/>“Well. Good luck,” Mikey says. <br/><br/>The man’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t have the chance to act on his realization. <br/><br/>Mikey teleports behind him and buries the knife in his jugular. <br/><br/>The others start shooting at him instantly, but he teleports before any of them can connect. He’d forgotten what it was like to fight alone, but he’d missed it. Without having to worry about friends or cover, he has the freedom to jump across the shop at will. While he hops around stabbing vital organs, about half of them get caught in each other’s crossfire. It’s not even a contest. They aren’t even crows. Just a dozen dracs and one Exterminator. <br/><br/>When they’re all dead, the shop is in shambles. Mikey is mildly regretful about the collateral damage of the environment, but he cracks his neck and walks back to the counter to finish his coffee regardless. It’s bitter, but that’s what he asked for. <br/><br/>As he drains the last of it, he has a thought. <br/><br/>He sets down the empty cup, shuffles over and squats next to the Exterminator’s body. His hands go for the jacket, unbuttoning it and rifling through the pockets until his fingers brush against a paper. He pulls the folded note out and reads it.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <br/>
    <b>BL/ind. Office Memorandum</b>
  </p>
  <p><b>To </b> <span class="u"> <b>EXTERMINATOR DENCH &amp; DRACULOID SQUAD</b> </span></p>
  <p><b>From </b> <span class="u"> <b>D184992R</b> </span></p>
  <p><b>Date </b> <span class="u"> <b>0121378349</b> </span></p>
  <p>
    <b>CAPTURE OR TERMINATE ROGUE TIME TRAVELER AND ACCOMPLICES.</b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p><br/>“They don’t know who I am,” Mikey mutters, mildly surprised. <br/><br/>As he goes to shove it in his own pocket, he hisses in pain as the fabric on his shoulder shifts. He realizes he got shot at some point. With a sigh, he stands back up. <br/><br/>He grabs the waitress pad— the ones they write the orders on— and a pen. He writes out a note before he goes. <br/><br/></p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>Sorry for the Costa Rica. Keep the change.</b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><hr/><p><br/><br/>He has to teleport home first, because he doesn’t know where anyone lives. <br/><br/>“Mikey,” a voice returns. “I had heard reports of your return.” <br/><br/>Mikey turns and finds Worm emerging from the side staircase. Just like when he was a kid, Worm always seems to find him coming in after curfew. He allows himself a small smile. “Reports?” <br/><br/>Worm smiles. “Admittedly, I didn’t quite believe the tale that Gerard told, but I can’t write him off when Brian confirms the story.” <br/><br/>That’s worrying, but Mikey lets it slide. After all, he’s still figuring out what’s changed in his absence. Speaking of, he says, “It’s good to see you. It’s been a long time.” <br/><br/>“We’d always hoped you would some day return. Including your Father,” Worm says. <br/><br/>“I’ve got so many bigger things on my mind than him,” Mikey mutters. <br/><br/>Worm fixes him a disapproving look. “Your father was a great man.” <br/><br/>“He hurt us. He killed Elena,” Mikey says. “And I bet he’s forced you to do shit you didn’t—“ <br/><br/>“Watch your mouth, kid,” Worm interjects. <br/><br/>Mikey rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Though, being great didn’t always deter him from being terrible as well. You know I was made to assist him in enacting his master plans, but I was also tasked with your protection. Those things didn’t… always align,” Worm sighed. “I’m sorry for that. But your Father’s actions had purpose.”</p><p>“What could possibly justify what he made Gerard go through? Or Otter? Or Ray?”</p><p>“How about the existence of this family? None of us would be here without your Father, and that’s valuable. We owe him our origins at the very least. I just think it’s crazy that nobody except Bob even cares to look into how he died.”<br/><br/>“The important part is that he’s dead. I’ve got bigger fish to fry. Listen, Worm, I need to know where everyone lives. I’ve got a lot to do and being able to get to them is pretty damn critical.” <br/><br/>“If you insist,” Worm sighs. “There are no permanent residents living here at the moment besides me, but I can assure you that Bob and Gerard will be staying here for the foreseeable future.” <br/><br/>“What? Why?” <br/><br/>“Because Gerard is a couch-surfing addict who refuses to stay with family, and Bob lived on the moon until last week.” <br/><br/>Mikey squints, but he’s honestly heard weirder things. “Uh… okay.” <br/><br/>“I can give you the addresses of Frank, Brian, and Ray’s places, though. If you’ll wait here, I’ll go get a pen and—“ <br/><br/>“Hey, hold on,” Mikey says. “I…” <br/><br/>Worm waits patiently. <br/><br/>“I didn’t want to ask. I’m not sure who was involved, and I didn’t want to wake the demon,” Mikey sighs. “But I do think I need to know what happened to Otter.” <br/><br/>Instantly, Worm looks conflicted. <br/><br/>“I know he’s dead,” Mikey clarifies. “I want to know how.” <br/><br/>“You’re right to be cautious,” he says. “But I don’t want to share stories that aren’t mine to tell. In the end, what happened is that Otter lost control of his powers. The Eldritch killed him. The damage was… it was too much for even your Father to fix.” <br/><br/>“Right,” Mikey says. <br/><br/>“I’m sorry, Mikey,” Worm says. “I can’t imagine what it must be like to hear about it years after—“ <br/><br/>“Could you get me the addresses, now?” Mikey cuts in.</p><p>Worm’s face falls, but he nods, understanding. “I’ll be one minute.”</p><hr/><p><br/>He teleports into Ray’s ‘apartment’ and gets a knife flying past his head for his trouble. <br/><br/>“Jesus— <em> Mikey!” </em> Ray shouts. “You startled me!” <br/><br/>“This is where you live?” Mikey asks, jumping into conversation. “I know you like music, Ray, but really? Living in a record store back room?” <br/><br/>Ray marches over and pulls his knife free from the wall. “I could’ve killed you, Mikes.” <br/><br/>“Coulda woulda shoulda,” Mikey shrugs. “But really. A store room? Do you even get utilities?”</p><p>“It’s not a store room, it’s a loft connected t— hang on, don’t distract me,” Ray huffs. “Why are you here? I thought we would just meet up and talk in the morning.”<br/><br/>“Yeah, and then I got shot.” <br/><br/>“What?” Ray exclaims. “God, where?” <br/><br/>“Shoulder. Would you mind cleaning it up for me?” <br/><br/>Ray runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Sit down, so fucking help me.” <br/><br/>Mikey finds a pair of chairs next to a tiny table and sits himself down with his blasted shoulder facing the empty chair. Then, he takes off his jacket and tie and shirt for access. <br/><br/>“Christ. What did you get hit with?” Ray asks, peering at it and setting down his first aid kit. It’s been forever since Mikey’s seen one of those. <br/><br/>“A laser blast,” Mikey says. “Don’t ask.” <br/><br/>“Alright,” Ray says. He glances over Mikey and frowns, though. “You have a lot more scars than I remember. How—?” <br/><br/>“Don’t ask, Ray.” <br/><br/>“Okay,” he whispers. He gets to work cleaning the blast and disinfecting it and dressing it. <br/><br/>Mikey sneaks a glance out of the corner of his eye at Ray, whose hair is so much like it was years ago— years ago for Mikey, that is. Admittedly, it was different when they were both teenagers, when Ray’s hair was so fucking short on Father’s orders. But in the apocalypse, it was almost identical. <br/><br/>“Mikey?” <br/><br/>“It’s been so long,” Mikey mutters, reaching out a hand up the gap. From where he’s hovering above Mikey, Ray’s hand shoots out and catches his, holding on firm and warm and <em> alive </em> . “It’s been years.” <br/><br/>“Us too,” Ray says quickly, as if he’s worried he doesn’t have the time to say it all. “I mean, we spent so much time wondering…” <br/><br/>Mikey closes his eyes. He can easily see the pain he’s caused. But guilt and regret are two different things. Regret implies that he would change it if he had the opportunity, but Mikey wouldn’t. The timeline demands he make changes now, that things be set in place for changes in 2008 and not five days after he left 1996. Let alone how hard it is to get time travel right. He’s fucked it up enough times to know that much. <br/><br/>“We love you. All of us, so much,” Ray says. “We were all scared we’d never get to tell you. We didn’t tell you enough.” <br/><br/>“You’re the only one who’s said it so far.” <br/><br/>“I’m the only one with any maturity,” Ray says, going back to wiping at the blast wound. <br/><br/>“It sounded like Frank grew up and got a life,” Mikey says, glancing vaguely at the door. “Last I saw from him was his punk rock phase. But he said he got himself sorted. Or was the domestic home life he mentioned a joke?” <br/><br/>“No. It’s real. He’s a pretty famous musician these days. But he’s still a stubborn little fucker who won’t associate with the rest of us,” Ray sighs. <br/><br/>“What? Why?” <br/><br/>“Same reason as Gerard, I guess. Just wanted to get away from everything related to The Umbrella Academy,” Ray says. “And Brian and I tried to slow Gee down, but Father wouldn’t let up on any of us and everything just got worse and worse. Mission after mission, he would send us out with Gee. And Gee was brilliant as always, but so reckless. We were so scared that one day he would get himself killed out there. And when things got catastrophically bad, there were some big fights about whose fault it was, and Gee essentially gave up on the whole team. Frank got fed up with pretending things were fine when we were all just falling apart. So he left.” <br/><br/>“I thought everyone wanted to leave.” <br/><br/>“We did. Gee disappeared on his own, and you’d be surprised how much harder it was to keep tabs on Gerard once he didn’t have a home. But after Otter died and Frank and Gerard were gone, Brian and I couldn’t agree on how to keep going. We couldn’t just stop fighting crime, but we had to get away from Father. Brian went chasing Gee, that’s how he left. And when it was just Bob and I, I just couldn’t put up with being in that house and doing exactly what Father said. So I applied to the police academy to do things the right way instead. And then I tried doing things the right way, and they fired me for not getting results and… well, now I work at a record shop and focus on vigilante work.”</p><p>“And Bob stayed put. But how did he end up on the moon?”<br/><br/>“Uh… I think Father told him to.” <br/><br/>Mikey presses his lips together. “Of course.” <br/><br/>“The family’s a little messed up. But deep down, I know we’re still brothers, and they know it too. It’ll just take time for us to pull it together,” Ray says. “We do love you.” <br/><br/>“I don’t need love,” Mikey spits. “I need cooperation. And focus. And competence. I don’t have time to sit down and have a therapy session with them. The world gets sent into nuclear war in a week.” <br/><br/>Ray lets out a long sigh and drops his gaze, but his eyes widen and his brows furrow. <br/><br/>“What?” <br/><br/>“You have a tattoo,” Ray says, pointing at Mikey’s other arm. <br/><br/>Oh. Right. Mikey glances down at the square of a QR code he’d etched into his skin with a needle and ink, symmetrical and opposite of his Umbrella Academy tattoo on his left arm. He’d forgotten about the code itself, since he’s had all the information memorized for over a decade. He should get back to researching with the leads it’s given him. <br/><br/>“Where did you get that?” <br/><br/>“The apocalypse,” Mikey says. <br/><br/>“Why? What is it?” <br/><br/>Mikey swallows. “I think that’s a story for another day.” <br/><br/>“We don’t have much time,” Ray says. “You said it yourself, we don’t have time to skirt around each other.” <br/><br/>“That’s not what I said. And besides, if I get it right, we’ll have an apocalypse-free lifetime to talk about it,” Mikey says. “I should get going. There’s more leads to chase.” <br/><br/>“Mikey, it’s almost morning, and you haven’t slept at all,” Ray says. “You need rest.” <br/><br/>“There’s no time,” Mikey says in exasperation, buttoning up his shirt again. “I’m going to look up some leads I found. It should be possible to research the previously destroyed information now that I’m living through the past.” <br/><br/>“You mean the present?” <br/><br/>Mikey blinks as he slings his jacket back on. “Guess so. Anyway, I’ll see you later.” <br/><br/>“If you fucking jump—“ <br/><br/>“I’ll see you soon,” Mikey says again. He makes eye contact for a long moment. <br/><br/>And then he teleports back to the street.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Mini-game: the phrase “it’s a long story” (or variations of that phrase) are hidden in every single chapter. Can you find ‘em all?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Cemetery Drive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>:)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>SATURDAY 7:05</b>
</p><p><em> “—you think it’s me? If it were, I promise I would’a done it with a lot more flair than that!” </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> “That’s why! Because you always had a plan and a motive to take him out!” </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> “Oh, come on. That’s not a fucking plan!” </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> “Christ, gimme a break.” </em> <em><br/>
</em><br/>
Mikey groans, opening his eyes and accepting that he’s not going to get any more sleep than he has. Not that it was long; he remembered noticing the sun rising. Maybe an hour at most.<br/>
<br/>
At first, he’d tried accessing the computer in the security room to get into B.L.I.’s database, but when he opened it up, the OS was completely different from anything he’d ever seen. He had no idea how to utilize it for hacking, let alone chasing leads. The best he could do was use search browsers to gather addresses on B.L.I.’s listed locations. He doesn’t think it’s a complete list by any means, but it’s a start.<br/>
<br/>
After that, he’d resorted to equations, making probability charts for likely connections. There wasn’t any staff listed on the website (none at all, not even an ‘About Us’ page). Just customer services phone numbers, email addresses in variations of ‘info@bli.com’, and a corporate PO box in LA. So he’s been making probability maps for major cities where B.L.I. is most likely to hold job recruitment events, because they’ll probably want to hire all of their people at the last minute to 1) force the hand of their new hires by making the alternative to employment death and 2) hire them at the last minute so there’s no time for them to change their mind and alert authorities or the public. They have to be hiring. It’s just a matter of how they’ll approach it, and if they’ll hold an event in New York, and how to find that event (if it exists). Not so easy. So Mikey’s been working on that all night.<br/>
<br/>
That was, until he fell asleep on his desk.<br/>
<br/>
Except there’s yelling down the hall, so he’s not even <em> sleeping </em> anymore.<br/>
<br/>
Grunting, Mikey stands out of his chair and teleports over to the kitchen, right in front of the furthest cabinet where he knows Gerard used to stash the coffee they bought under Father’s nose. Instead, he finds a cubby full of hard liquor and bags of pills.<br/>
<br/>
“Fucking Witch,” Mikey grumbles. “A house with fourty-two fucking bedrooms, nineteen bathrooms, and Gerard couldn’t find a better place to hide his shit than the kitchen. Figures.”<br/>
<br/>
“What do your stupid clues have to do with it?” Frank shouts in the distance.<br/>
<br/>
“Everything! There’s a man dead!” Bob shouts back.<br/>
<br/>
Having had enough, Mikey sighs and teleports over to the living room, landing on one of the barstools while his brothers jump in surprise. “You couldn’t have this screaming match during normal business hours?”<br/>
<br/>
“It’s seven AM. Everyone should be up,” Bob says defensively.<br/>
<br/>
“Try getting <em>Gerard</em> up before ten and I’ll give you a trophy,” Frank jabs.<br/>
<br/>
“Like you would even know.”<br/>
<br/>
Before Frank can retort, Mikey pushes off the bar, stuffs his hands in his pockets and joins them. “Is there a dispute I can mediate for you?”<br/>
<br/>
Bob sighs in relief. “Please do.”<br/>
<br/>
“What’s the disagreement here?” Mikey asks.<br/>
<br/>
“Bob thinks I killed Father,” Frank says, squaring his jaw and glaring up at Bob’s massive form.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>No </em> , I think someone who had personal issues with Father killed him,” Bob says.<br/>
<br/>
“So, me.”<br/>
<br/>
“You <em> happen </em> to be one of the people who might match the description.”<br/>
<br/>
“I thought Father died naturally,” Mikey cuts in.<br/>
<br/>
Bob nods. “Well, yes. The coroner’s report agrees with that. But his monocle went missing and— well, think about it. Have you ever known him to be of poor health?”<br/>
<br/>
“He was old. It happens,” Mikey shrugs.<br/>
<br/>
“Thank you,” Frank says, waving his hands. “Now, can I go get my things, or are you going to go for Interrogation Round Two?”<br/>
<br/>
“Your things?” Mikey asks.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m going back home,” Frank says. “I left in a hurry last night because it got late, but I do need to get back to my dog. I really only came for the funeral, which still hasn’t fucking happened, but at this point, fuck it.”<br/>
<br/>
“Frank, the world as you know it will be over next week,” Mikey says.<br/>
<br/>
“And I’m not built for espionage! I don’t even use my powers anymore,” Frank shrugs. “If you want me to get in a fistfight a bunch of bad guys, sure. But I don't think you know where any are. So let me know when you find 'em, but until then, I have people who I’d like to spend time with.”<br/>
<br/>
“Sure, just leave the hard work to us. What’s new,” Bob scoffs.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not the one who disbanded the fucking team! Take your complaints to Gee,” Frank says. “And stop antagonizing me!”<br/>
<br/>
“Phoenix Witch, I can’t stand either of you. I’m with Bob on this, though. I need all hands on deck. You can’t just wander off to suburban Newark when I’m trying to save the world,” Mikey says. “So, let’s try a little thing called compromise, huh? Get a fucking dogsitter.”<br/>
<br/>
“I have a job.”<br/>
<br/>
“Get creative with your sick day use.”<br/>
<br/>
“I play music. Our band don’t get sick days.”<br/>
<br/>
“Dead guys don’t get <em>bands.”</em><br/>
<br/>
Frank crosses his arms and pouts; a clear indicator that Mikey’s just won the argument. “You got bossy while you were gone.”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, you became a dick. So.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
“Mikeyway?”<br/>
<br/>
“Witch,” Mikey hisses. He’s so close to finishing his probability map, standing atop his dresser to reach the wall above it and draw out the equations in chalk.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh good, you’re not busy,” Brian says.<br/>
<br/>
“Very busy, actually,” Mikey grunts. “But that's never stopped anyone from interrupting.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah yeah. I got you a present.”<br/>
<br/>
“World ends in six days. Material objects are worthless.”<br/>
<br/>
“It’s a useful material object, though,” Brian insists, and as he steps forward, he drops a small device onto the top of Mikey’s nightstand.<br/>
<br/>
“A phone?”<br/>
<br/>
“So you can actually contact us and we can get a hold of you. I’m guessing nobody thought about the fact that communication would be helpful? Not all of us can teleport when we want to talk to someone.”<br/>
<br/>
Mikey shakes his head and hops down to inspect it. It’s a flip phone, with a little star-shaped charm tied to the bottom. “Low-tech.”<br/>
<br/>
“It came out of my rent money, so it had to be.”<br/>
<br/>
“You didn’t have to buy this,” Mikey mumbles, meeting Brian’s eye.<br/>
<br/>
Brian shrugs. “You’re right about priorities. Saving the world is more important than making rent.”<br/>
<br/>
“Making rent?” Mikey asks.<br/>
<br/>
“Again, priorities.”<br/>
<br/>
“But where do you work? What do you do?”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m a manager at a Radio Shack,” Brian says. “Does that meet your expectations for where I’d end up?”<br/>
<br/>
“No, I—“ Mikey pauses. “Dude, I don’t know. I’m trying to fix the world and hold a big quasi-family reunion at the same time. I just wanted to know.”<br/>
<br/>
After a long moment, Brian sighs and looks down at his own shoes. “Okay, yeah. Sorry.”<br/>
<br/>
It occurs to Mikey that word might have gotten around about him asking Frank to take the week off. He doesn’t want to give the impression that he’s playing favorites, either, he just wants to make sure that he can delegate tasks easier if he needs to. “I didn’t mean to be rude, I just assumed you had more serious stuff to do than wait around for me to figure out what to do. Frank’s famous, or something. He can’t get fired from his own band. I don’t want to make you drop everything before I know my own plan of action.”<br/>
<br/>
“Right,” Brian says.<br/>
<br/>
“… uh, so thanks,” Mikey says, picking up the phone finally. “Do I have to ask Worm for phone numbers?”<br/>
<br/>
“No, I filled up the speed-dials,” Brian says. “Most numbers are self explanatory. I put five as the home phone, six as Worm’s private number, and eight and nine are empty.”<br/>
<br/>
“Cool,” Mikey mutters.<br/>
<br/>
“I better get going. It’s already two in the afternoon. My shift starts in—“<br/>
<br/>
“No, yeah,” Mikey nods. “Have a good day managing. I have no fuckin’ clue what that entails, but…”</p><p>Brian laughs. “Yeah. Thanks. See you, Mikes.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
As soon as he narrows down the search, he finds the most probable catering company that B.L.I. would hire. It’s a bit of a struggle - Mikey’s never used Google before - but it’s not so different from searching a BL/ind database. He types in the keywords and the information pops up in the results.<br/>
<br/>
Google also tells him the address of the catering company’s main offices, and he’s teleporting there as soon as he figures out where in NYC it is.<br/>
<br/>
Mikey walks up to the front desk easily, hands in his pockets, and waits for the receptionist to notice him.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, hi there,” the guy says. “Anything I can do for you?”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m trying to find the location of an event that’s being held. I’m fairly sure you’re the company hosting it, so—“<br/>
<br/>
“I’m sorry, how old are you?”<br/>
<br/>
Mikey grits his teeth. Of course it’s not going to be that easy. “Eighteen,” he lies. The body’s sixteen, the mind’s thirty-two, and but there’s no way in hell he’s explaining his situation to a fucking receptionist.<br/>
<br/>
Not that he thinks the receptionist is buying into the lie anyway. He peers at Mikey with thin lips the way one looks at a sandpup who claims to be a regular tumbleweed. The man eventually sighs and comes up with a proper excuse to say ‘no’. “Well, I can’t tell you event information if I don’t understand the circumstances.”<br/>
<br/>
“I can tell you the company. Better Living Industries. Do they have an event scheduled this week or not?”<br/>
<br/>
The receptionist flicks his eyes at the computer and back. Mikey almost smiles - that nervous glance confirms that this is the right catering company. They are hosting B.L.I. That very computer has the information.<br/>
<br/>
“Private event, right? When? Where?” Mikey presses.<br/>
<br/>
“I can’t disclose information regarding a private event to anyone not affiliated with our clients, and certainly not to children.”<br/>
<br/>
Mikey grinds his teeth. It wouldn’t be good to search the computer by force. There would be no way not to make a scene, and he doesn’t want the cops on him any faster than they will be with B.L.I. time travelers chasing him. “Fine. I’ll come back later.”<br/>
<br/>
“Have a nice day.”<br/>
<br/>
“Fuck you,” he mutters under his breath as he marches away.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When he pops back into the mansion, he’s looking for someone who can appear as a believable father who works in corporate business. Ray is level-headed enough, but he’s <em> visibly </em> Puerto Rican, and explaining questions about a mixed-race family would probably be too much improv for him. Bob’s stature would raise questions, and Mikey’s not sure he even owns business attire. Frank couldn’t look formal if you put a gun to his head. Brian’s at work. Worm is a literal gorilla. Gerard looks like he’s been run over by a train.<br/>
<br/>
In short, they’re all bad options, but he needs <em> one </em> of them to pretend to be his dad so he can get the attention of the catering company.<br/>
<br/>
He’s searching the house when he hears shouting, not for the first time today. This time, it’s in the kitchen, so Mikey allows himself to creep down the stairs and eavesdrop.<br/>
<br/>
“The fuck are you afraid of, then? He’s here! He’s very clearly not fucking dead!” Frenk shouts.<br/>
<br/>
“Fuck you. How fuckin’ dare you—“ Gerard slurs.<br/>
<br/>
“What is your <em> problem, </em> Gee? What’s your excuse this time?”<br/>
<br/>
“Your— they don’t work! They never work like you think they will. And besides, this is my life! ‘S not that easy!”<br/>
<br/>
“It could be. It’s as easy as <em> ‘I heard—‘ </em> “<br/>
<br/>
Frank cuts off abruptly.<br/>
<br/>
Mikey leans in to glance around the doorway, to see what’s happened, and his eyes widen when he sees Gerard mashing his face against Frank’s, sticking his tongue down Frank’s throat and gripping at his hair tightly. And Frank doesn’t pull away, is the thing. He grabs Gerard’s waist and drags him closer and—<br/>
<br/>
They’re like. <em> Really </em> making out.<br/>
<br/>
For a moment, Mikey has the decency to be surprised, but the second he starts searching for a reason, he remembers a half dozen teenage memories. Ones of Gerard lamenting about Frank’s alluring nature, of discussions about whether they were really brothers or classmates, of Gerard sneaking off with Frank during the night. Mikey thought this would happen at some point, but then he went to the apocalypse and he figured there were more important family matters than crushes on your not-quite brother. And now that he’s come back, it seemed to him that Frank is famous and Gerard is a junkie and their lives went in completely opposite directions. Which is— well, maybe still true, considering Gerard looks more intent on biting Frank’s lip than sweeping him off his feet.<br/>
<br/>
When they part, Gerard takes a few ragged breaths and shoves Frank away. “Don’t you <em> ever </em> fucking suggest that again. I don’t need your fucking rumors. You can’t just rumor yourself a better brother.”<br/>
<br/>
Frank laughs, sharp and broken. “So you go do that, then call me <em> brother </em>?”</p><p>“Just followin’ your lead.”</p><p>“You’re so fucked up.”<br/>
<br/>
“That’s not somethin’ for you to fix,” Gerard spits.<br/>
<br/>
“I could,” Frank says.<br/>
<br/>
<em> “Fuck </em> you.”<br/>
<br/>
“I <em> could. </em> The right way. I could be there for you this time — talk to you. It doesn’t have to be a rumor. But I could support you.”<br/>
<br/>
“You mean support y’r <em> brother,” </em> Gerard says sharply.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh my god. Would you get over that?”<br/>
<br/>
“You made it pretty clear that that’s what I am to you,” Gerard growls. “That that’s all I would ev’r be.”<br/>
<br/>
“I didn’t mean—“<br/>
<br/>
“I’m just sayin’ what you said,” Gerard says. “You can’t tell me that now you’re divorced, you’ve magic’ly changed your mind about what I am to you.”<br/>
<br/>
“You’re not—!” Frank cuts himself off and bites his knuckle as he paces. Probably to avoid punching anything, especially Gerard, who Mikey admits is being intentionally provocative. <em> Good on Frank for trying to calm down. </em> “I didn’t mean it. I was…”</p><p>“You just said yesterday that you didn’t wanna deal with y’r crackhead family.”</p><p>“I didn’t— that’s an expression, Gerard!”</p><p>“Oh, ‘scuse me,” Gerard says. “Sorry, I shoulda known that you draw the line at addiction jokes. <em>Obviously</em> you’re better than that. My bad. <em> Whoops </em>.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ.”<br/>
<br/>
“And now ’m your pity fuck,” Gerard fills in. “Well, great. Just what I needed.”<br/>
<br/>
“Gerard,” Frank warns.<br/>
<br/>
“What? ‘M I not allowed to have standards?”<br/>
<br/>
“You’re the one who kissed <em>me!”</em><br/>
<br/>
Gerard grins widely, all teeth. “Yeah, well that doesn’t make you my prince charming. You don’t get to save me, Frankie. Y’ missed that boat a few years back.”<br/>
<br/>
“I could just say the words, and you couldn’t stop me.”<br/>
<br/>
“Do it ‘n I’ll hate you for the rest of my life,” Gerard warns, suddenly dark and serious.<br/>
<br/>
“I just want to help,” Frank whispers.<br/>
<br/>
“How nice.”<br/>
<br/>
Gerard starts stomping towards the door, and Mikey teleports so as not to be caught listening.<br/>
<br/>
He lands in his own room and pulls out his new phone. He flips it open, presses 2 and then ENTER, and puts it up to his ear as it rings.<br/>
<br/>
“Hello?”<br/>
<br/>
“Do you own a suit?”<br/>
<br/>
“Uh… pardon?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
Ray does own a suit, as it turns out.<br/>
<br/>
With Ray stepping in, the catering company lost their only trump card against Mikey’s interrogation. All Ray had to do was claim to be a would-be guest who lost his invitation card, and provide information about the company, and from there they were home free. They’re done by 7 PM.<br/>
<br/>
<em> Tomorrow night, at a loft in the middle of the Flatiron District. </em> He has the address and everything.<br/>
<br/>
“What’s your plan now?” Ray asks as they walk out the front doors.<br/>
<br/>
“Go,” Mikey shrugs.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, I got that part,” Ray huffs. “I meant what are you going to do when you get there?”<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll pose as an intern,” Mikey says. “I’ll just drop a few names that I shouldn’t know if I wasn’t part of B.L.I., and they’ll buy it.”<br/>
<br/>
“Maybe.”<br/>
<br/>
Mikey sends a sideways glance his way. “You don’t think I’m capable?”<br/>
<br/>
“I have no idea,” Ray says. “I don’t think I really know who you are.”<br/>
<br/>
Mikey frowns.<br/>
<br/>
“I think we all have this distorted vision of you,” Ray explains. “We spent a dozen years without you, and we’ve all changed so much. That whole time, we only had memories as a reference for when we thought of you. I’m sure time has warped the image. That aside, you spent even more time in the future. More than half your life. You aren’t our kid brother. You aren’t the same one who only ever opened his mouth to make dry comments and listened to nobody but Gerard.”<br/>
<br/>
Mikey doesn’t know how to respond, if he should respond.<br/>
<br/>
“We’ve changed. <em> You’ve </em> changed.”<br/>
<br/>
“I didn’t want to. It’s not who I am,” Mikey admits. “I just became what the situation called for, whoever that was. I’ve changed so many times.”<br/>
<br/>
“Do you want to be who you were when we were kids?”<br/>
<br/>
“More than anything.”<br/>
<br/>
Ray hums. “Good. I love you no matter what, but I don’t think you’re cut out for leadership.”<br/>
<br/>
“Me neither. Some things never change,” Mikey says.<br/>
<br/>
Ray nods with a smile.<br/>
<br/>
“Was anyone going to tell me that Frank got married?” Mikey asks.<br/>
<br/>
Ray goes quiet. “… Did he tell you that?”<br/>
<br/>
“Someone may have mentioned him being divorced,” Mikey shrugs.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh,” Ray mutters. They walk down the street towards the Academy in quiet. Then, Ray hums and fidgets. “What— what did you hear?”<br/>
<br/>
“Literally just the word ‘divorced’, but the context didn’t leave a lot of ambiguity as to who got divorced,” Mikey huffs. “Who was it?”<br/>
<br/>
“Her name’s Jamia. She and Frank got married last year, but they’d known each other for a long time before that. I’m not a hundred percent, but I think the story was that she met him back when he was first sneaking out,” Ray says. “Whenever anyone asks, they would just smile and say it’s a long story.”<br/>
<br/>
“Was it nice?” Mikey asks quietly. “The wedding?”<br/>
<br/>
“… it was beautiful,” Ray says. “They were so in love.”<br/>
<br/>
“So what happened?”<br/>
<br/>
“Mikey. Mind your business,” Ray says.<br/>
<br/>
Mikey opens his mouth to defend himself, but he looks up into Ray’s expectant gaze and thinks better of it. He has better things to speculate on than the romantic endeavors of his brothers anyway.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
When they get back through to the Academy, Bob is hurrying through the main landing and pauses in his steps. “Oh, good. Now we’re just waiting on Brian,” Bob says, pleased.<br/>
<br/>
“For what? Is there another crisis to hold a family meeting over?” Mikey asks.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, there’s no crisis. It’s just we haven’t had the funeral,” Bob says.<br/>
<br/>
That metaphor about hearing pins drop has never been more accurate.<br/>
<br/>
“A funeral?” Mikey repeats.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah,” Bob says. “For Father.”<br/>
<br/>
“You don’t think that pushing it off a week is reasonable, given the incoming apocalypse?” Ray asks, gesturing at Mikey. Mikey sort of resents being referred to as the embodiment of the apocalypse just because he’s the messenger, but he’d rather not piss off Ray any more than he already has today.<br/>
<br/>
“Some of us came a long way for this funeral,” Bob says, eyes sharpening.<br/>
<br/>
“Jesus, we’re <em> having the fucking funeral,” </em> Frank calls from the living room. “Just come and then bail when it’s over.”<br/>
<br/>
Bob shakes his head and turns and walks up the staircase.<br/>
<br/>
Ray shakes his head. “Well. I guess we’re going.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
They do, if only because it’s hard to justify avoiding such a big event when it’s being held in your own backyard.<br/>
<br/>
The whole family - including Worm and Father’s ashes - form a semi-circle in the courtyard. Mikey stands between Gerard and Frank. Gerard is steadily drinking his way through a large bottle of clear liquid, which Mikey is assuming to be vodka. Frank is on his phone. Nobody seems particularly interested. After a moment, Bob takes the center. Bob clears his throat, and says, “I’m not really sure what to do.”<br/>
<br/>
“Just scatter the ashes,” Worm says.<br/>
<br/>
Bob nods, and takes off the top of the ornate urn, and tips it.<br/>
<br/>
Ashes fall down to the dry ground beneath. Bob shakes the urn side-to-side, and the ashes scatter a little more on the way down, but mostly land in a pile.<br/>
<br/>
“Uh. Alright,” Bob says.<br/>
<br/>
Nobody responds for a long moment. Then, Worm says, “Would anyone like to say a few words?”<br/>
<br/>
Another long silence.<br/>
<br/>
“Okay,” Worm grunts. “Reginald Hargreeves was an interesting man who gifted me with life. He brought this family together with the intention of protecting the world. His goals were ambitious, but he succeeded.”<br/>
<br/>
Ray chuckles darkly. “Yeah. We’re a great success.”<br/>
<br/>
Gerard snorts, and covers his mouth.<br/>
<br/>
“Could you <em> pretend </em> to respect him for, like ten minutes,” Bob says, staring right at Ray.<br/>
<br/>
“Why? Nobody here respects him except you and Worm,” Ray frowns. “All the rest of us have come to terms with his abuses.”<br/>
<br/>
“You weren’t abused,” Bob scoffs.<br/>
<br/>
“No, <em> you </em> weren’t abused, Bob,” Ray says. “But I was locked in a tank for hours at a time so he could figure out how long it would take for me to drown. Just because all he ever asked of you was obedience and pushups doesn’t mean you understand everything he did to the rest of us!”<br/>
<br/>
“I’d expect this from Frank, but <em> you?” </em> Bob asks. “Really?”<br/>
<br/>
“He’s finally dead. I don’t have to put up with him any more,” Ray grits out.<br/>
<br/>
“He made us brothers,” Bob yells.<br/>
<br/>
“ <em> Brothers </em> ? Funny,” Brian speaks up. “Because I remember Father telling all of you that you weren’t allowed to talk to me outside of class.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, he always pit us against each other!” Frank cuts in. “And then expected unconditional obedience. We were just his little toy soldiers! Or did you never think it was odd that he got to choose who the bad guys were? That when he sent us on missions, he made himself judge and jury and made us the executioners?”<br/>
<br/>
“He made Otter a murderer at thirteen,” Ray adds.<br/>
<br/>
“You two have <em> no right </em> to talk about Otter!” Bob shouts, his voice much more serious.<br/>
<br/>
“Boys, <b>enough</b>!” Worm bellows.<br/>
<br/>
All eyes snap over to the gorilla, who shakes his head.<br/>
<br/>
“If you don’t have anything respectful to say, then don’t say anything,” Worm says.<br/>
<br/>
There’s a long moment where Mikey glances around, trying to judge what will happen next.<br/>
<br/>
Gerard’s the first to move. He steps forward, slowly, up to where Bob is, but he doesn’t look at Bob. He comes to a stop in front of the ashes.<br/>
<br/>
He spits on it.<br/>
<br/>
Then he turns and looks at Mikey. “’m tired, and I don’t th’nk you’ve gotten much rest either. Sleep w’ me tonight?”<br/>
<br/>
Mikey blinks as Gerard approaches, but nods. “Yeah. Let’s go.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
Just like that, Gerard pulls Mikey up to his own room when they head to bed. Gerard takes one more swig out of whatever bottle he’s drinking from and collapses on the bed. It’s not a huge bed, but Mikey’s not as big with his sixteen-year-old body, so he hasn’t bothered asking for an alternate sleeping spot.<br/>
<br/>
“I thought you learned to banish ghosts,” Mikey says across the bed once the lights are off. “I thought you learned that at ten, and you just weren’t telling Father.”<br/>
<br/>
“I did,” Gerard mumbles.<br/>
<br/>
“So why drink?” Mikey asks.<br/>
<br/>
“You took all th’ impulse control with you,” Gerard says.<br/>
<br/>
Mikey snorts, and Gerard snickers along.<br/>
<br/>
“Mm,” Gerard hums. “Actually, I just really, <em>really</em> didn’t want to see you. Total denial. Never wanted to know for sure. Like, Sch— Shro— Schrodinger's cat. If I couldn’t make sure, then you h’d to be alive.”<br/>
<br/>
“I was,” Mikey whispers. “I am.”<br/>
<br/>
“Now you’re back,” Gerard chuckles helplessly. “And I’m j’st a fuck up shell of who y’ knew.”<br/>
<br/>
“Gee, no,” Mikey says, grasping for Gerard’s arm in the dark. He doesn't have to reach very far.<br/>
<br/>
“I could be useful if I w’s sober. Could conjure Father, or visit ‘im, or ask how ‘e died so Bob’ll shut up. But the thing is, I’ve been high so long…” Gerard huffs. “I’ve been on a ten-year bender. I don’t know if I’ll live through the crash. Everythin’ changes.”<br/>
<br/>
“Of course you’ll live,” Mikey tries.<br/>
<br/>
“You’re not the fucking cure to my problems, you’re the source,” Gerard snarls.<br/>
<br/>
Mikey flinches back.<br/>
<br/>
Gerard sucks in a breath, “I’m sorry— ‘m sorry, I’m not drunk enough. I didn’t mean that. I should drink more—“<br/>
<br/>
“You should rest,” Mikey says. “I won’t make you get clean, Gee. Promise. It's just... it's time to go to bed. Maybe tomorrow will be better.”<br/>
<br/>
Gerard hums. Even though his breathing is uneven and sometimes hitches and restarts like he's gently coughing, he does go quiet for a while. Then, out of nowhere, the bed jolts a little bit and creaks as Gerard props himself up. He grabs at Mikey's shoulder and shakes it insistently. “Mikes— y’said you came fr’m the apocalypse?”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, Gee, we went over this,” Mikey says with concern.<br/>
<br/>
“The nuclear apoc’lyps’?” Gerard emphasizes. “All th’t fallout, do— d’you have cancer?”<br/>
<br/>
Mikey laughs. “Gee, of c— wait.”<br/>
<br/>
He stops to think. To feel. His mouth is blessedly free of sores, and his head has none of the dull constant ache and when he breathes, it doesn’t feel like he has to really try to breathe. His body just does it.<br/>
<br/>
“My body— huh. I guess I don’t anymore,” Mikey says. He hadn’t meant for that to happen when he was writing his calculations, but it’s a very welcome side-effect. A very fucking lucky one, that his body kept his eye modifications and his tattoos and his muscle memory and not the growths that would have (eventually) killed him. “I don’t think I have cancer anymore. Haven’t felt it since I jumped.”<br/>
<br/>
“You had cancer?” Gerard asks tearfully.<br/>
<br/>
He chuckles. “Everyone worth knowing had cancer, Gee.”<br/>
<br/>
<em> Including you, </em> he thinks.<br/>
<br/>
“Was it sad? At the end of the world? Were people sad?” Gerard whispers.<br/>
<br/>
Mikey frowns, trying to think of an answer. “… no. You were either too drugged up to feel anything real or you were awake and <em> furious </em> . Maybe that’s just the people I was with, but they felt everything so intensely. Like it was worth cherishing, even if you felt grief or hatred or jealousy. Feeling was a sign that you were free.”<br/>
<br/>
“I wish I could not feel.”<br/>
<br/>
“Don’t,” Mikey warns. “Don’t <em> ever </em> say that, Gee.”<br/>
<br/>
Gerard goes quiet.<br/>
<br/>
“There’s nothing to <em> like </em> about being forced on drugs so you blindly obey them. They break people and smother them and make them fall in line so they can go and kill their friends too. There’s no part of that you should ever wish for that.”<br/>
<br/>
“Okay,” Gerard whispers. “I’m sorry.”<br/>
<br/>
“Can we go to sleep?” Mikey asks.<br/>
<br/>
“… of course.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(Sidenote: I get that a lot of the comic and the show are about siblings being absolutely overcome with the “I haven't talked to you in a decade, fuck off” thing, bc I have a bunch of siblings who I feel that exact way towards, but fr? Y’all, I don’t wanna write fifteen chapters of them getting over themselves. They’re bad at talking but they’re not gonna be as bad as the TUA siblings. Promise.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Ghosted, Dusted</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, it is time for foreshadowing and mystery :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>SUNDAY 6:19</b>
</p><p>Mikey wakes up to Gerard octopused around him. He’s tempted to slip away and spare Gerard the awkwardness of waking up next to your already-awake brother, but he considers how Gerard would react. If Mikey was here when he went to sleep but gone when he woke, Gerard would probably tear up the whole Academy looking for him.</p><p>… <em> Best to wait. </em></p><p>He falls asleep in the meantime.<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/><em> Gerard pulls him up the stairs in the middle of the night. </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> “Gee, be careful,” Mikey whispers. “If we get caught—“ </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> “We won’t.” </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> “Father’ll put you in the mausoleum.” </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> “Yeah, well, fuck him anyway,” Gerard says. “He can’t do anything but give me a back ache and interrupt my sleep.” </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> “What are we even doing?” Mikey complains. </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> “We’re not here to get out of the house. We just need somewhere private.” </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> “No way,” Mikey mutters. </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> “Yes way, Mikey Way,” Gerard grins. “Tonight’s the night.” </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> Mikey lets out a shaky breath, but quirks his lips up when Gerard looks at him. </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> Gerard leads him up to the attic and makes him lay down on the ground once the door is closed. Gerard sits by his side and grabs one of Mikey’s hands between his own. “Okay. So you just lay there, and I’m gonna pull out your soul. It’s like making you a ghost before you actually die. And then we’ll go to the land of dead, and you’ll be alright as long as you never let go of my hand. Okay?” </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> “What happens to my body?” Mikey asks curiously. He isn’t nervous — the thought of Gerard causing him harm hasn’t even crossed his mind. </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> “It’ll be unconscious. It goes on autopilot. Like you’re asleep. I can put you back and you’ll be just fine,” Gerard assures. “Mama taught me.” </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> Not their birth mother, or Elena, of course. Mother, to Gerard, was what the goddess of death. </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> “So, Mikeyway, are you ready to meet her?” </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/><br/></em></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>Mikey wakes up when Gerard does, because Gerard groans and fumbles around his bed before getting up.</p><p>He turns over and watches Gerard search his desk and turn up a couple pills, and gulps them down with the last of his vodka from last night.</p><p>“Bad hangover?” Mikey asks quietly.</p><p>“Won’t be around for long,” Gerard mutters back, tapping the now-empty bottle. "Please don't lecture me about it."</p><p>"Okay," Mikey says. It's certainly fucking concerning, watching how aware Gerard is of this problem. He has practically no advice for it, though. In the desert, alcohol was too expensive to be addicted to without getting yourself killed along the way, and drugs of any sort were typically given a wide berth (save for hormones and legitimate medical conditions). He never personally knew killjoys who needed to deal with substance abuse.</p><p>After another few seconds, Gerard grabs a dark bottle of something - wine? - and looks over his shoulder to meet Mikey's eye. “I love you, Mikes, but leave me alone for a bit.”</p><p>“You sure?”</p><p>“Yeah. Love you.”</p><p>Mikey nods, and jumps away.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He meets Bob in the kitchen, already making coffee.</p><p>“You stole my idea,” Mikey says to announce his presence.</p><p>Bob smiles at him. He’s physically massive now, in a way Mikey’s not accustomed to, but the smile betrays his gentle nature. All the strength in the world couldn’t change who Bob was at heart. “I’ll share. Do you still take yours the way you used to?”</p><p>“Yeah, man. There wasn’t any in the apocalypse.”</p><p>“Shit, Mikey. How did you survive without coffee?”</p><p>“I didn’t,” Mikey says.</p><p>“… that’s not funny,” Bob says quietly.</p><p>His morbid little joke wasn't really meant to be a knee-slapper, but the serious tone of Bob's response has Mikey considering how dead family probably is probably a touchy subject for everyone right now. Mikey tilts his head a little and decides that now is as good a time as any to ask for answers about that. “So. You were pretty upset last night.”</p><p>Bob shrugs.</p><p>Mikey sits down at the table. “Someone should tell me what happened to Otter. And it should probably be you.”</p><p>“That’s not—“</p><p>“Yeah. I know you don’t want to talk about it. But everyone knows except me and I think I have a right to know why nobody thinks I should even <em> try </em> to save my dead brother.”</p><p>Bob sighs. “We couldn’t have a nice morning without talking about death and family drama?”</p><p>Mikey just waits expectantly.</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>He nods.</p><p>“… Otter started losing control after you left. On missions and at home too. He couldn’t keep Them from breaking out. Father didn’t mind, because he was still killing the bad guys. Actually, Otter was more willing to go on missions than he ever had been. But the others started getting upset. Thought that he couldn’t control who they targeted.”</p><p>“Could he?”</p><p>“Well, he never <em> impaled </em> any of us, did he?” Bob huffs. “I think they just couldn’t come to terms with him being so dangerous once they saw what he could really do. They started thinking of him as a monster just because he stopped doing his job where nobody could see.”</p><p>Mikey frowns. “You said at home, too?”</p><p>“Yeah. There were a few times he got upset and They came out. Never hurt anyone badly, though. But Ray tried to keep him from leaving a discussion once and a tentacle knocked him on his ass. That was the tipping point for them. It was all the evidence they needed to decide that they couldn’t trust Otter at all. So the next time that Father sent us out on a mission together, they made a plan to prove that they didn’t need Otter to make the Umbrella Academy work. We got there, and Ray pulled Otter aside and told him to sit the mission out. But Otter heard gunshots, and he went inside anyway, and Frank… I didn’t see exactly what happened. Nobody even remembers exactly what he said. He didn’t mean for anything bad to happen but the whole thing was so messy.”</p><p>“He rumored Otter?”</p><p>“Yeah. Something about ‘stop trying to help us’ or something. Frank always said that he regretted his phrasing. All I know is the next moment, the Eldritch is tearing it’s way out of Otter’s body, destroying the bad guys and coming for us too. So I picked up Frank and Gee and ran, and Ray followed me out. The building came down before it finally stopped. And you know what? It only stopped because it ripped it’s portal clean apart. Ripped <em>Otter</em> apart. It tore him up from the inside out and left him in pieces.”</p><p>Mikey doesn’t even have words. He’s sure there’s parts of that story warped by bias, but there’s no way to misremember something so gruesome.</p><p>“I know they didn’t mean to kill him,” Bob says quietly. “But they were trying to kick him out of the Academy because they were scared. It they’d just gone to Father—”</p><p>“Father didn’t care,” Mikey says. “You’ve got to know that.”</p><p>“That’s what they said, too.”</p><p>“Then maybe they’re right, Bob,” Mikey says, looking up at him. “Father was around the whole time. Did he even notice Otter losing control?”</p><p>“He—“ Bob stops. “He said it was of no concern.”</p><p>“Seems like he was wrong.”</p><p>“But it wasn’t Otter’s fault. Frank rumored him,” Bob says. “Otherwise—“</p><p>“Otherwise the Eldritch may have torn him apart a few months later.” Mikey taps his fingers on the table. “If he was already losing his temper at you guys, it may have just been a matter of time before he lost the ability to keep it under control entirely.”</p><p>“We can’t know that.” Bob turns and starts pouring coffee into a couple of cups, adding in milk and sugar into his and a little pinch of sugar into the other. He puts them down on the table in front of Mikey and takes a seat.</p><p>“And what about Gee? Did he talk to Otter's ghost?” Mikey asks after he takes his first sip. The coffee is good, but his brother is dead, so it's hard to enjoy it.</p><p>“It took a day or two, but his ghost showed up, even when Gerard was on cloud nine. Brothers are special, I guess. Gerard tried to tell us that Otter had lost it, but we wanted to see for ourselves. At the funeral, once Father left, he got totally sober and manifested Otter for us. Only once, though,” Bob says. “It didn’t go well. He screamed at us. And then he unleashed the Eldritch on purpose and tried to kill us all.”</p><p>They both sip their coffee.</p><p>“Gerard banished him before he could.“</p><p>That explains why nobody wanted him alive again.</p><p>“And that was the last time we were all together. Until Father died.”</p><p>“I thought Frank got married?”</p><p>“He invited everyone, but I was on the moon at the time. Gerard didn’t show up either.”</p><p>Mikey nods and sips his coffee as if he totally understands what it’s like to go on a lunar expedition.</p><p>“…I don’t hate them,” Bob says, quieter. “I think they made a bad decision. I think it’s their fault that the Eldritch killed him. But I don’t think it crossed their minds even for a second that what they were doing would put him in danger. That doesn't change that it still happened, though.”</p><p>“I think you’re right. It did kill him,” Mikey says.</p><p>Bob perks up, like nobody’s ever said that before.</p><p>“But I think it would’ve happened anyway.”</p><p>“… you might be right.”</p><p>“Control was something he had because Father scared him into it. If he started losing control, it was because he stopped letting Father terrorize him,” Mikey reasons. “I loved him. But I don’t think he ever had a chance. His personality and his power were at odds from the start.”</p><p>“He didn’t ask for his powers. He didn’t want them. He just wanted to use them to help people.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Bob sighs. “After we lost him, I had to kill the guys <em> he </em>used to. I guess I have some resentment about that too. That all his work got shifted to me, because he died and everyone else fell apart.”</p><p>“Don’t you think that’s Father’s fault? That either of you had to kill people at all?”</p><p>When he doesn’t hear a response, he looks closer at Bob, who has his lips pressed together and his eyes on his mug.</p><p>Mikey drains the last of his own coffee. “Hey, look. I need to get back to work. But thanks for talking to me. I had to know.”</p><p>“Yeah. Be careful, Mikes,” Bob says.</p><p>He nods before jumping off to the library.<br/><br/><br/></p><hr/><p><br/><br/>He spends most of the day pouring over equations concerning his powers.</p><p>It’s pretty safe to say that he’s mastered solo spatial jumps by now. At least at a short distance. Years of intensive practice in it proved that his endurance maxed out at about fifty jumps in half an hour. Father said that was where his abilities <em> ‘plateaued’ </em> , but that was really just a condescending way of saying <em> ‘I don’t think you’ll ever improve’ </em>.</p><p>In the time since, however, he has gotten good evidence that his Father was dead wrong about the extent of his abilities. Deceased father pun intended.</p><p>So far as time travel goes, accuracy is difficult. He’s figured out the broad mathematical theorem for how to jump to a different time, and where variables should go, but calculating for those variables has proven extremely difficult. His chances of over/undershooting the target time increases exponentially the further he’s jumping. <em> (Further or longer? Whatever.) </em>He managed to pinpoint 2008 only by devoting years of study to the variables of the exact circumstance, especially when he didn’t care about maintaining his physical age. But even so, he has yet to execute a perfect time jump. It’s always been aided by an outside source or horribly inaccurate or both. Statistically, mostly both. But he did learn something in his time in the future.</p><p>He can time travel with passengers, and he has it on good authority that he can do the same with teleportation.</p><p>Hence, equations. He works until it’s nearly time for the mixer, and then teleports home to brush his hair, and then teleports to the loft to start mingling.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p><em> Bzzz. Bzzz. </em> <em><br/></em><br/>“It’s fascinating to investigate the management of this company,” the man beside him says.<br/><br/>“Definitely,” Mikey agrees, ignoring the vibrating phone in his pocket.<br/><br/>“The efficiency is simply unmatched. And amazingly, the staff is much smaller than you would imagine from looking at their work output. The founders must've spared no expense in hiring the best— hold on—“ the man searches for his pockets and turns up his own phone with a frown. “Not me…”<br/><br/>“It’s mine, apologies,” Mikey says.<br/><br/>“Do you need to take that?”<br/><br/>“Of course not.”<br/><br/>The man shakes his head. “Could be important. Tell you what, I’m gonna go mingle. We’ll circle back to our discussion."<br/><br/>Mikey presses his lips together and smiles. “Sounds perfect. Thanks for being understanding.”<br/><br/>“Of course, young man.”<br/><br/>As the guy walks away, Mikey sighs heavily and opens the flip phone, pressing it to one ear. “What?”<br/><br/>“Mikey—“ a hushed voice whispers. “Mikey, there’s been a break in.”<br/><br/>“Brian?” Mikey asks, then his eyes widen and he looks around the room for somewhere to hide. “At the house?”<br/><br/>“Yeah. I think it’s your evil corporation,” Brian whispers. “All white? Lasers?”<br/><br/>“Yeah, that’s them. Vampire masks or smiley-face?” Mikey asks, whispering too as he speed-walks away from the crowd and towards the sign for the bathroom.<br/><br/>“Smiley, I think. Gee‘s with me— the others are all fighting them. Bob said to hide.”<br/><br/>“I’ll be one second,” Mikey promises, hanging up. He doesn’t even bother actually getting into the bathroom. He steps around a corner, looks over his shoulder to check for witnesses, and then teleports when nobody’s looking.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He lands back in the house in such a hurry that he almost gets himself shot. Mikey lurches for cover as ray blasts zip past his head. He ends up scrambling back into cover behind the bar in the living room.</p><p>“Mikey!” Bob’s voice shouts from across the room. “These guys are looking for a time traveller!”</p><p>So Mikey says, “yeah!”</p><p>“Dude, that’s <em>you!”</em></p><p>Mikey clenches his teeth, and shouts back, “I’m aware!”</p><p>There’s a big crash from where Bob’s voice came from, so Mikey drags himself up and quickly scans the room. Four scarecrows. <em> Fine. </em></p><p>He teleports behind the one in the back and kicks their elbow in. When the gun clatters to the ground, Mikey lunges for it and teleports as soon as his fingers grab it. He’s back by the couches in time to watch the other three crows shoot at the empty air he’d just occupied. He raises one hand and shoots two of them down, but he has to teleport away afterwards because the survivors (one disarmed and one not) wisened up. Mikey lands in the entryway of the house, watching Bob chuck his own ‘crows against the walls at literal break-neck speeds.</p><p>“Why are they here for you?” Bob asks once he notices Mikey.</p><p>“Long story.”</p><p>“You <em> always </em>say that!”</p><p>Mikey just shrugs and raises his gun, shooting the ‘crows who have doubled back for him. “Yeah. Well... usually it’s true. Is this all of them?”</p><p>“No. There’s a couple more stalking the house, so I told Brian to hide Gee. Worm’s guarding Father’s office in case they’re here to steal documents. Ray and Frank went after the weird one.”</p><p>Mikey frowns. “Weird?”</p><p>“He wasn’t wearing a mask. Bald, frilly coat—“</p><p>“Where?” Mikey barks.</p><p>“Basement kitchen, I think!”</p><p>Mikey’s teleporting there before he can think twice.</p><p>He lands on top of the table, startling all three occupants of the room. Frank and Ray turn their focus back to the third, but the Exterminator in question stares at Mikey. Then, a gradual creepy comes across his face.</p><p>“Oh, I see now. Hello again,” Korse says, slow and satisfied and the sight of it makes Mikey’s stomach churn.</p><p>“They sent <em> you?” </em> Mikey asks. It’s not supposed to be <em>him</em>, it’s supposed to be a fucking head scarecrow, not another Exterminator, and not fucking <em> Korse</em>.</p><p>“Of course. We couldn’t let you mess up ancient history now, could we?”</p><p>“We’ll see.”</p><p>“You know this guy, Mikes?” Ray asks.</p><p>“You’re overdue for your routine bleaching. You need to come with me, Gary,” the Exterminator says.</p><p>“That’s <em> not </em>my name,” Mikey says, and he tries to say it firmly but it comes out shaky and he’s suddenly furious that he can’t control his voice.</p><p>“We’ll fix that,” Korse promises. He reaches for his gun.</p><p><em> “I heard a rumor that you stopped,” </em> Frank blurts out.</p><p>And Korse goes freakishly still, eyes turning milky white.</p><p>“Frank,” Ray says in surprise.</p><p><em> “I heard a rumor you’re our prisoner. I heard a rumor you can’t escape. I heard a rumor that you sat down and </em> <b> <em>stayed there,”</em> </b> Frank snarls, pointing at the chair at the end of the table.</p><p>Korse’s eyes don’t have time to clear out, he just sits down in the chair and stares blankly forward at nothing.</p><p>Frank lets out a heaving breath and stumbles to sit down in a chair as well. Ray’s by his side in an instant, and Mikey kneels down on the table to get closer too. Frank looks ragged, breathing heavy like he’s winded, but not awful. He takes some steadying breaths and folds his head in his hands.</p><p>“I can’t believe you did that,” Ray whispers.</p><p>Frank gathers himself together enough to glare. “It’s not my fault. Did you <em> hear </em>Mikey? Whatever he was gonna do—“</p><p>“Not a dig. <em>So</em> not a dig, Frank.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Mikey whispers. “People keep telling me you don’t do rumors anymore.”</p><p>Frank slumps back in his chair and looks up at Mikey. “Some things are more important.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“What do we do now?” Brian asks.</p><p>Everyone’s regrouped in the living room, save for Worm, who’s currently on warden duty in their impromptu basement-kitchen jail. Most brothers who fought have some kind of injury or scrape, but nobody got blasted directly, luckily.</p><p>“We should pro’lly know what the fuck’s going on first,” Gerard says, fixing Mikey a long look.</p><p>“Okay, alright. As you probably figured out, this is B.L.I. They came for me because they detected a temporal disturbance when I time traveled back.”</p><p>“So how did they get here? I didn’t think they even knew who we were,” Ray says. "Or that they were developed enough to track anyone down."</p><p>“They’re not. Not yet.”</p><p>Everyone looks at Mikey with varying degrees of anger and confusion.</p><p>Mikey clears his throat. “So, they can time travel too.”</p><p>“Unbelievable,” Bob mutters.</p><p>“You didn’t think to tell us this?” Ray asks incredulously.</p><p>“Well, it wasn’t a problem before. They were only coming after me, and I could handle them. I <em> did </em>handle them,” Mikey shrugs. "Something changed, this timeline and- I was supposed to be able to just eliminate them but instead of a police squad, they sent in a swat team."</p><p>“And you didn’t consider that they would figure out that you live with us?” Ray asks.</p><p>Mikey pinches his nose. “Oversight. That’s on me. Sorry.”</p><p>“And that guy I rumored?” Frank speaks up. "Who did he think you were?"</p><p>All eyes turn to Frank, then back to Mikey. "He's a higher official. A dude with the rank of Exterminator. They're meant to track down anyone they deem a terrorist."</p><p>"Yeah, but why did he call you Gary?"</p><p>Mikey swallows and sighs and closes his eyes so he can talk without looking at any of them. “When I was in the future…”</p><p>It’s so hard to put into words, though. Explaining why he needed aliases means explaining so much about the future that’ll make them trust him less. But maybe if he just explains the bare minimum, then he won’t really be lying. And Mikey has a lot of practice in perfecting lies of omission.</p><p>“B.L.I. captured me once. It was the end of the Analog War, and I was trying to fight my way through as many dra— uh, as many B.L.I. goons as possible,” Mikey says. “They took me in and brainwashed me until I forgot everything and everyone. They call it bleaching. And then they stuck me in the Services Department, told me my name was Gary Levko. Drugged me up so I’d stay quiet, but put me to work against my own people. They made me dust so many ‘joys…“</p><p>Mikey swallows hard.</p><p>“They made me into a monster. It took me almost a year to shake it off,” Mikey says. “I’m not Gary. That’s <em> not </em>me.”</p><p>Nobody says anything.</p><p>“Frank,” Mikey says. “Are you up for one more rumor?”</p><p>“Depends on what,” Frank says. “We have to be really careful about phrasing. It’s important to say what you mean with a rumor.”</p><p>“I just want him to answer some questions,” Mike says. "Simple interrogation."</p><p>“Oh, we can do that.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p><em> “I heard a rumor,” </em> Frank whispers. <em> “That you answered Mikey’s questions truthfully, without evasion.” </em></p><p>Mikey watches Korse’s eyes go white, and then recede again. With so many ongoing rumors, though, it stays a little gray.</p><p>“All yours,” Frank says.</p><p>Everyone’s sitting on the table, watching pensively as Mikey steps forward.</p><p>“What year did you come here from?”</p><p>“2020,” Korse spits involuntarily. He has no choice in the matter.</p><p>“Whose orders?”</p><p>“The Director’s.”</p><p>“What did you mean earlier, when you said<em> you see now?” </em></p><p>Korse turns his head, staring at Mikey. “You’re Michael Way, and Kobra Kid, <em> and </em>Agent Cherri Cola.”</p><p>Someone behind him mutters a <em>‘what?’,</em> but Mikey disregards it. “How do you know that?”</p><p>“Michael Way is the origin of time travel technology.”</p><p>Mikey’s mouth goes dry. “… what?”</p><p>“Michael Way, <em> you, </em> are the origin of—“</p><p>“I heard you,” Mikey snaps, turning away and pressing a hand to his mouth. “I didn’t tell anyone. That shouldn’t be— how is that possible?”</p><p>“My powers,” Korse answers coolly.</p><p>Mikey goes stock still, and then he turns back around. “Korse. What’s your date of birth?”</p><p>“October first, 1980.”</p><p>“He’s one of us,” Ray mutters.</p><p>“What the fuck,” Gerard hisses. “The megacorporation has <em> super villains?” </em></p><p>“He can’t be; they’ve seen him in fights. They would have told me if he had any— but he kills— He kills…” Mikey whispers to himself. “Oh. <em> Killed. </em> It’s 2020 for him. He’s already done it.”</p><p>“Mikey?” Brian asks.</p><p>“What are your <em> exact </em>powers?” Mikey asks, ignoring Brian.</p><p>Korse glares. “I steal other people’s powers. Secondary from those who have them, otherwise their entire power, and give them tangible form.”</p><p>“Tangible form? Elaborate.”</p><p>“An essence, one that can be reverse-engineered.”</p><p>Mikey paces back and forth just so he has somewhere to put his nervous energy. “That’s why you wanted The Girl. Why you <em> took </em>her.”</p><p>“Of course, but it turned out to be a waste. I couldn’t get anything from her. She‘s worthless.”</p><p>“You’re wrong,” Mikey growls, glaring at Korse. “You have <em> no idea </em> what she’s capable of.”</p><p>“Who?” Bob asks.</p><p>Mikey ignores him. “Which powers have you stolen so far? List all of them.”</p><p>“Forcible amnesia. Energy production. Environmental shielding. Laser production. Emotion suppression. Increased lung capacity. Reality shifting. Time travel. Soul detachment.”</p><p>Mikey cracks a tires, hysterical smile. “So that’s how B.L.I. got sci-fi technology. Of course. Take a power, put it in a machine, mass produce it if possible. Rayguns and drac masks and Ritalin.”</p><p>That’s how B.L.I. can time travel. It’s <em> him </em>. And it’s how they can remove all the willpower from the living and turn them into dracs; by using Gerard’s power to banish people’s souls right out of their bodies. He’s lucky that they stole Ray’s lung capacity and not his aim. Witch knows how many B.L.I. would’ve killed if even the dracs had perfect aim. Bob’s super strength is suspiciously absent, but so is the utilization of Frank’s reality-shifting. Mikey feels like that’s too powerful for B.L.I. to let go to waste, but he can’t think of a single example of where they might’ve used it. And the ones before his brothers’ powers…</p><p>“And Destroya… Let me guess, most Exterminators had a power at some point? And after you stole what you could, you wiped their memories of having any remaining powers?”</p><p>“Not me, but yes.”</p><p>“Right,” Mikey mutters. “The Director?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“She has amnesia powers?”</p><p>“No. She holds the technology derived from that power.”</p><p>Mikey grits his teeth. That’s even worse. Powers in an individual have practical and physical limits, but with enough time and research, Mikey imagines that most powers put into technology could be honed towards greater efficiency. And then mass produced. “So where is she right now? In 2008?”</p><p>Korse stares blankly.</p><p>Mikey stops pacing so he can snap his fingers in front of Korse's face. <em>“Hey.</em> I know you’ve been under her thumb since the beginning. You had to, or Batt City wouldn’t have had the shields to survive the Helium Wars in the first place. <em>Answer me.</em> Where is she in 2008?”</p><p>“I don’t…” Korse stares at the table.</p><p>“Fucking hell. Of course she bleached you, too. <em>Shiny,”</em> Mikey huffs. "Are you aware that you get bleached?"</p><p>"I don't get bleached."</p><p>"I'm sure you think so," Mikey says. "How about re-education? Or routine job training?"</p><p>Suspiciously, Korse nods once.</p><p>"How often?"</p><p>"Every two years, for the purpose of maintaining a S.C.A.R.E.C.R.O.W. lisence."</p><p>Mikey shakes his head and turns his back.</p><p>“I don't get it, he totally dodged your question about the director lady. I thought I rumored him not to evade,” Frank says.</p><p>“You did,” Mikey says. “It’s not evasion if he literally doesn’t remember. Bleaching is like... forced amnesia. Apparently, every two years his personal memories gets reset.”</p><p>“Fuck,” Frank mutters. “So now what?”</p><p>Mikey shakes his head. “There’s nothing he knows that can help us. All old protocols from before the bombs must be wiped. He’s useless."</p><p>“I wouldn’t say useless,” Brian says.</p><p>The room turns to him.</p><p>“His power is indispensable,” Brian explains. “So Better Living will be coming for him. The only question is how soon.”</p><p>Mikey’s eyes widen. “They have <em> time travel, </em> they can—”</p><p>And he turns, looking down to Korse only to see him lurch upward, grab Mikey’s hair in his fist, and slam his head—</p><p>His temple hits the edge of the table. He’s unconscious before he can hear the explosion.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A quick recap of that last scene…<br/>Frank: u have to sit down and answer our questions<br/>Korse: ok, sure<br/>Korse:<br/>Korse: to be fair, you said nothing about assaulting people while sitting</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Un-Aide</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <span>And now, the </span>
  <strike>
    <span>weather</span>
  </strike>
  <span> future.</span>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b><em>29 OCT 2016</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Ḧ̜́e ̛̜f͇͆ȋ͕nï̡s̡͘ḫ̑eș̏ typ̤̒in̛̲g ̦̓ḁ̈́n̘͆d̟̓ sen̟̓d̠͌s̮̏ t̛̲he re͎̕po͐ͅrṫ͖.̦͂ </em> <em> ͔̀ </em></p><p><em> ͙̉It ̫͠w̱̉a͍͋s̤̕ ̙́a̳̚n͔̍ ͇͗u̮͡p̨̀dat̹̑e ̔͢o̘̊n ṯ̏he ̟̄si̗̕tu̪̓a͍ti̳͌on ͙͋wi̖͞t̓͟h̞̓ ̣̽t͈̕h̞e ̽͜teṟ͡ro̩̅r̦̔ist ͉̆h̨̀ù͓b͙͝ c̩̀enṭ̈ĕ͎r̲͞. ̟̔Th̛͎ê͎y̡͞’̲̓d gotte̼̐n s͍͠o̭͐me͉̕ ͔͘guy͙̆s o̹̅ű͜t ẗ͔her͎̉e̜͘ ̜͂t͇̋o re-ȇ̫du̥̿c̼̿aṭ͆ȇ̳ ̙̓t̼̐h͔̓e ͛͟tĕ͓r̞͞r̡̃or͔̆i̜̒s͉͑ts̩̄. ͚̎Ju͉͘st ͌͜t̫͐o̖̊ ͔̓k̖eep̯͆ t̼̿h̖̅em͜ ̘̾f̙̅r̖̋om̧̾ ̼͛g̼͆e͙̓ṫͅti̻̚n̥͛g̦̑ ͕͑mo̩͒ṛ̏e p̼̄ę͌opͅlè̙ ̹̊k̹̄i̹̔l̻̊l͕͛eͅd̛̠,̖͘ o̬͒f̫̆ ̬͝c̙͌o̲̔ů̠ȑ͇s̘̐e. Tḣ̹at ̙̀wa͉̓s a͔̿ mo͙͑n̏͜t͕̒h̠͘ ̭̆agô̝,͙͞ ̘͆ạ͞n̢̑d t͚̚h̬̅e ̛͍peo͜͠p͉͛le ̰̀i̡͊n ͉̓t̢͡h̪͞e̲̚ ̟c͔͛en͉͊ẗ̺e̱̒r͕̒ ͈ař̳e n̩͠o̲̎w̠̚ ̨͘act̰̀ȉ̠n̤̓ǵ͢ ̬̐up, s͖͆o̫̓ ̮̓hė͜’̦́s j̡̾u͇͘sẗ̥́ m̠ad̗͗e ̜̓ä̪́ ̳̈́d͙̃oc̝̑u̟̓m͙eṋ̈t̢͂ ͕̏wi̹̋t̲͡h ̪̐w̡̚ḩ̊iç̔h͎͠ ̡̉t̢͑ë̯́r̛͎ro͕͡r̲͞i̙͌s͙̑ts ̹͒w̩͡er͉̚e̙̅ s͙͠h̽͜ow̳̒i̤͠ng̱̑ ̳̆re͗ͅš̭is͈̔t͟a͛͢nce̫͛ ̱͗tò̻ t͢͝h͓͘e͈͠ r̟̂ėͅhǎ̢b̛̺i̚͜l͎̚i̭̕t̼̄a͚̚t̮̆ion̙̂. ̫̌Th͚͂a͈͆t̩͝ ͛ͅw̼͑ay̪̏,̹̀ ̪͒wh̟͝e̱̔n ̘̓t̑͢he͍̽y ̖̕s̱̿end͎̋ ͇̕i͉̍n̼͡ ͔͋m̆͜oŕ̮e ̨ę͛m͇p͈̊lo̤ye̮̐e̙s̢̏ ̌ͅto͍͋ ̪̀coñ͍ti̲̚n̝͡uē͕ r̼̅è̺-̛͖e̟̋duc̻̽at̯̃ȉ̤o̦n̺͡, ͖̌ṫ̢h̻̍e ̭̏t̨̿ȅ͢r͇roris̯̆ts̰̆ ̮͊că̘n b̛̺e̗̔ ̹̑p͖͠rop̻̍ḙ̛r̘ly ̼̃h͖̓andl̜̊e̱͒d. </em> <em> ͎͐ </em></p><p><em> ̨̔Ḧ̦ȇ͇ ̌͟ẉ͡atc̺h̳̚e̙̒s ̠̈t̢̑hę̽ ͉͘ḅ̊l͕̆â̼č̡k̠̑ l̬̈i̥̚tt͖̊l̥̑e ͖̒prog̰͞re̜͒s͍̐s̭͋ bar̹͛ f͙̽ȋ̲l͍l͉̾ ͙̋up ̝̕aş͐ ͓̋i͊͜t ̣̽s̙end̂͢s͉̓ ͓͝o̬̔f̳̃f̮̅.̞͑ ̱͞An̗̋d̜́ h̺̃e̙͗ ͔̆k̻͛ẽ͉ē͚ps w̙͛a̘̍t̗͂c̨̓h̖̔i͖͗ng.͎͝ A̻͌n͙͞d ͈̀ḧ̜e͇͠ </em>̺̽keȅ͔p̲̅s͎̒ ̧̂w̡̅a͆͟tchi̙̓ng.̥͠</p><p><em> T͍͋hē̤ sc̹͂re̹͂en ̧̄i͓̚s̼͐ so̲̿ ̹̽w͓͒ḧ͚́it͎͡e̢. </em> <em> ̹̆ </em></p><p><em> Li͎͛k͍͋e ẹ̒ver͈͌y̪͒ẗ̗h͎̎ing. ̯͊Lĩ̺ǩ͢e̱͡— </em> <em> ̺̔ </em></p><p><em> T̡͐h̦̾ḭ͠s ̥̌is̯̒ </em> <b> <em>wrong</em> </b> <em> . </em></p><p><em> H͆ͅe̡͗ look̪̕s̢͘ ̡̉d̤͑owň̢ ͔̉á̮t̯͂ hi̗̍s ̣̽h͉͒a̓͜nds,̢̔ his͔̍ hạ̓nd̗̓s t̼̐hạt͍̓ ̻͋a̝̚r͜e ͉͗vi̞̓b̞̂rat̫̄in͈̕g oű̥t of ͕̐the̜͌i͍̾r̢̋ skin̨͒,̲ but ͕̃onl̠̽y i̻̾n h̼̓is̠͘ ̖͝ẖ̎ead͉̈, n̰̐o͖̕t̡͝ ̤́i̭͐n̲̉ ̪̃r͂ͅě̦a̠̋l li͈͠f̤̾e.̝͗ ̑͢In r͇̂ȩ̈al l͚̏ï͙f̟̿ê͇,͋͟ ͇́he ̩̋st̤̓a̍ͅr̢͞ĕ͟s ̰͠a̞̓t fin͔͋g̭̎er͙̂s̟̓ ̱͆ḧ̤oṿ̿e̻̿ṙ̖in͊͢g ̢̄ove͍̊r̻͌ ̗̚a̪̋ ̥͡ke̥͒yb̯̊oa̯͒rd ̊ͅf̮͆o̱͋r̼̚ m̏͢ị̓n͈̎uẗ̯e̛̜s̜̓ ̫͋on̻ e̘n̘̉d̯, try̨ing̟̾ so ͕̚h̰̊a̺͡r͌͢d͕̎ t̎ͅo̒͟ </em> <b> <em>think</em> </b> <em> .͂͢ </em></p><p>
  <em> ̩̀And t̰͊h̢̅ä̜́t̜̏’s͍͆ it̺͛,̩͆ ͘͟i̱͡s̘̃n̳̊’͑ͅt̉͢ ̗̊i̞̓t͓͋? ͓̕Tẖ̽ę̓ ̨̏crack ̙͡t̬̄h̨̛ä́͢t t̤͒ears̥͋ ͔̋d͇͠õ̞wn thè͇ ̺̎wa̘̾ll̳̐. </em>
</p><p><em> He̞͂’̙͝s </em> <b> <em>trying to think</em> </b> <em> .̧͂ </em></p><p>
  <em> Then— </em>
</p><p><em> Ḧ́e r͂ëme͞mbe͞rs ̅tha̅t ḣi̎s̿ name is̄ </em> <b> <em>n̛ot̏ </em> </b> <em> ̆G͠a͐ry̽.̈́ ̊Ĥe ̑r͞e̛mem̂bẻr̃s͑ ̆t͆h͒a̿t ̂h̓ë ͒h̓as̃͝ </em> <b> <em>b̑ecõm̀e a̽ c͛o͝g</em> </b> <em> in͌ ṫh̉ȇ ͗m͂ac̕h͆ine̽ ͌h͝e͐ f͝o͡ug͛ht̅ to̾ot̿h an͞d̈ ͗n̐a̋il̍ ̊to͒ t̏e̓a͗r ͒ápa̐rt.́ He re͒m͂e̾mbers͆ th̽at ̀hi͗s j̆ōb̾ is ͞i͡d͊en͒t́ify͑ǐn̊g ͊a̍n͞d͗ ̂trackin̓g͂ t̀raîtors̓ w͘ith͠in͑ th̽e ̕city lim͛it̑s—͋ </em></p><p>
  <em> ̇A̚n͘d͒ ̊h̓e’s ͘n̊ot ̀a͘t ̽ḣis͌ ͋deṡk͌, he’s̚ pu͑ki̓ng͐ i͐nto̊ ͋t̃he ͘tra͡sh̀ ca̍n ̄in hi͗s͊ ͘c̎u̽b̐iclë́, ̇h̉e̓ad͘ d̊ǔck̽ed̾ and finge̕rs ͋gr̆aspi̅ng ȧt ͞t͂he w͠a̎l͂l̇s ̋ăroun͒d him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hē͕’s bee̔n͞— </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Not anymore. </em>
</p><p><em> He̙̅ rù͓ns oů̠t of the room, past the wo̱͋rkers who̭͐ look up͉͛ at his di̭͐sruptive behavior. Bu̥̿t thê͎y won’t stop him, only security woul͍d. Fortunately, the dracs that guard this f͙̽loor stay near the ele̜͘vator. They don’t expect action in the cubicles. People are too drugged to wake up. Except him. He can’t prove it except for with what he feels now, but what he feels tells him that he has never willingly submitted to B.L.I., and that it took all the drugs they could pump into him to keep him confused and it </em> still <em> didn’t work. </em></p><p>
  <em> He ducks into a closet and slams the door and balls his hands into fists. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And he thinks about how far he wants to go, and how he needs to go that far and no less, and he— </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jumps— </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Lands. Zone three. Fading out. Being dragged. Rough ground. Black spots everywhere. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “…ly! Cherri? Don’t… Gary, is that you? Wake…" </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p><em><br/></em> <b> <em>17 MAY 2017</em> </b></p><p><em><br/></em> <em> “As I live and breathe.” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Huh?” Cherri hums, head perking up from where he’s cleaning his blaster. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “The Fab Four’s Trans Am is on the horizon,” D says, wheeling himself out to the living room. “It’s good. You needed to meet ‘em eventually.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ah. He hears it now that he’s paying attention - the engine in the distance. “I’ve heard stories. Do they live up to their reputation?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “They’re as killjoy as the desert sand, Cherri,” D says. “They’re somethin’ else. They’ve heard of you, too. Not many people do what you did.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “What, wake up after a bleaching?” </em>
</p><p><em> D levels him a flat glare. “Wake up and </em> remember <em> . I’m sure they’ll be interested in hearing stories. They’re fairly friendly once they warm up to someone. Tell you what, you go grab the sword from my room. Ghoul can’t get enough’a odd weaponry. He had a bet with Pony that I don’t really own one.” </em></p><p>
  <em> “How big a bet?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Two hundred carbons. And Pony’s obligated to gimme half for provin’ ‘em right,” D grins. “C’mon, Cola.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Fine,” Cherri concedes, heading back to the bedroom in the back of the radio shack. It’s dark in there, filled with old-world junk and stuff he wishes the new world was still full of. It takes him a bit to find the sword, and by the time he does, he hears a commotion in the house. He’s just about to head back when he sees someone pass by the doorway and— </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And his hands start glowing. </em>
</p><p><em> Cherri rushes out to the hall, his eyes locked on the man who passed, and he stares at the back of a red leather jacket and his hands are glowing and he has the thought, </em> ‘I can time travel,’ <em> and he doesn’t give it a second thought. </em></p><p><em> He pushes through spacetime and jumps</em> <em>— </em></p><p> </p><hr/><p><em><br/></em> <b> <em>?(?) ??? ????</em> </b></p><p><em><br/></em> <em>—and stumbles out in a cool, windy street. </em></p><p>
  <em> He turns around on himself. His eyes are wide as he looks at tall buildings and streetlights and his first thought is ‘Batt City’ but then he squints at the emptiness and the wide road and the brick buildings and fucking stars in the sky. There’s no radiation shield to keep the ash away, which means there hasn’t been a nuclear war yet, which means… </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I did it. It’s before…” Cherri mutters. He drops to his knees and rubs his temples, which ache from the headache. His hands still tingle, but he has no idea what to do with that. He’s before the Helium Wars. He’s too happy about that to care. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A breeze blows through the street, pushing air through Cherri’s hair and cooling his scalp. His headache is soothed, somewhat. Abated by the sensation. This isn’t like the desert, where the temperature drops like a stone once the sun goes down. He hasn't felt such nice natural weather since… </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Since he left his own time. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hey, dude?” someone asks. </em>
</p><p><em> Cherri looks up at a woman approaching, dressed in rag-tag clothes. </em> Homeless, <em> Cherri thinks, </em> but dressed in clothes brighter than the ritalin rats in Batt City. <em> He drinks in every little difference that reminds him he’s escaped. </em></p><p>
  <em> “You okay?” she asks, brows furrowed in concern as she steps closer. “You look like you’re hurt.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m shiny,” Cherri says. “It’s only a hea—“ </em>
</p><p><em> And he hears a </em> fwwp <em> . </em></p><p>
  <em> Cherri turns on the spot, kneeling up again as he rounds on a massive blue glow on the other side of the street. It looks like his blue glow. The kind that lights up around him when he teleports. He feels his gut sink, though, once he sees the blue recede, leaving behind a drac patrol and an Exterminator. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “What—?” asks the homeless lady, stunned. </em>
</p><p><em> The dracs raise their guns, and Cherri reaches out and grabs the woman’s hand and tries to pull her along— </em> <em><br/></em></p><p> </p><hr/><p><em><br/></em> <b> <em>?(?) DEC 2014</em> </b></p><p><em><br/></em> <em>—</em>Safe<em>, Cherri thinks when they land. They’re in an alleyway, behind some dumpsters and garbage. </em></p><p><em> “What the </em> <b> <em>fuck</em></b><em>!” the homeless woman screams. </em></p><p><em> It’s only then that Cherri recognizes her. He freezes, and squints, and blinks when he really, actually does recognize her face too. “</em>Angel<em>?” </em></p><p><em> “What the fuck just happened,” she shouts. And she’s definitely Tiger Angel. Nobody shouted - shouts? - like her. “Who the </em> <b> <em>fuck</em> </b> <em> are you?” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Woah, hey,” Cherri says, backing up. “I’m sorry. Those guys were going to—“ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “The glow-y guys?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yeah, them. They were going to blast us,” Cherri says. “I was just getting us away. Don't think about it too hard.” </em>
</p><p><em> “So where </em> are <em> we?” </em></p><p>
  <em> “We’re—“ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Cherri blinks, standing up. He turns his head back to the alley entrance, and feels his heart sink when he sees B.L.I.-standard android girls advertising on their corners. His eyes dart to the alleyway walls, looking for propaganda he knows will be there. And sure enough, there’s posters everywhere for wanted terrorists, B.L.I. slogans, rules and regulations. His eyes catch on the date in the bottom corner, though. 2014. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And he knows what’s happened. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’m so sorry,” Cherri whispers. “I’ve stolen you from where you belong.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I don’t belong anywhere,” she says defensively. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “What year are you from?” </em>
</p><p>“What?”</p><p>
  <em> Cherri crouches down near her and tries to make himself look sympathetic. “I know this is a lot. I just crashed into your life and pulled you into a strange place. A strange time. What year do you remember it being?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Angel frowns at him, still curled up on the ground and untrusting. “‘79.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Interesting. So he’d tried to head back before the apocalypse and instead he overshot by thirty years. “Angel, I’m a time traveler. I’m so sorry, but I think I just dragged you into 2014.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “The future?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yeah. It’s a long story.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She glances at the side. “This is crazy.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Mhm.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “If you— can you take me back? Like you brought me?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I don’t think I can. Physically,” Cherri says, looking down at his hands. He puts one hand on her shoulder and clenches the other into a fist, but when he strains, the blue glow that should engulf his hand refuses to. Blue sparks in his veins and dances across his skin in little blobs, but they don’t grow — they just fade out even as he focuses intently. Cherri sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Then, she looks more solemn, less pissed. “Okay… fuck, uh. Okay. Silver linings are everywhere. So... uh, the future's gotta be better, right? Like a utopia?” </em>
</p><p><em> Cherri’s face crumples. “The government will tell you it is. </em> <b> <em>Never </em> </b> <em> believe them.” </em></p><p>
  <em> “What?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And then he feels— </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There’s no word but ‘tug’ to describe it. </em>
</p><p><em> He’s always pushed through space, and especially through time, where he has to shift through spacetime to get where he's going. This is the first time in his life he’s felt a </em> tug <em> . Like there’s a rope around him, and someone’s pulling him back. There’s no glow of his hands, because he’s not pushing through time, something else is </em>pulling<em> him. </em></p><p>
  <em> But he has unfinished business. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Listen,” Cherri says hurriedly. “Find the killjoys. They’ll take you in. Learn what you can, and fight for this fucking hellhole until I can fix it. Okay?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Angel doesn’t look like she understands. </em>
</p><p><em> Cherri doesn’t get a chance to explain it better before he rubberbands—</em> <em><br/></em></p><p> </p><hr/><p><em><br/></em> <b> <em>17 MAY 2017</em> </b></p><p>
  <b> <em>(again)</em> </b>
</p><p><em><br/></em> <em>—and he’s back in the hallway. </em></p><p>
  <em> He blinks, confused and surprised that he’s in the same place. Right where he left. It's barely been three minutes- or maybe it's been no time at all.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Cherri!” D shouts from across the house. “C’mon! We’re waiting.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Cherri steps down the hall and out into the living room. Bright jackets catch his eye, but D waves at him, so Cherri focuses on that first. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “There you are, dumbass. Thought you got lost in the static.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “My airwaves are just fine,” Cherri says. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Then how come Kobra Kid had to pick up the sword where you dropped it in the hall?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Cherri turns and he’s frozen. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He doesn’t know how much his heart can take today. First time travel and now… </em>
</p><p><em> His brothers are standing in front of him. (His brothers, and </em> <b> <em>himself</em></b><em>.) </em></p><p>
  <em> The green one‘s arms have all of Frank’s tattoos that Cherri remembers, plus about a hundred or so for good measure. The one in black has the curly hair that Ray had before Father made him chop it off at twelve. And the one with red hair dye— their eyes are Gerard’s. They may be missing about a hundred pounds, but it’s Gee. Cherri doesn’t look too closely at himself, but he sees his own jawline and knows. </em>
</p><p><em> So that’s why he could time travel again. A momentary conflict, where the universe got confused about two Number Fives in the same place. Too much energy from two of the same thing in one palce (</em>one x value two ys, that’s not a valid function—<em>); it must’ve created a minor paradox while it sorted itself out. He must’ve been temporarily given the energy to time travel in the hopes that he would go away, right up until the universe figured itself out and pulled him back to where he was. Like adults asking a kid to step out of the room while they talk business. </em></p><p>
  <em> Cherri is suddenly glad that his habitual poker face stays in place even when he’s shocked. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Well, this is them. Crash queen and company,” D says. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hey,” Future Gerard scowls. “Watch it, old man.”</em>
</p><p><em> “You know each other,” Cherri says, surprised. He knew that D knew the Four, but things have changed now that the Four are </em>his brothers<em> and not a bunch of random punks. So, he looks expectantly at D. </em></p><p>
  <em> “Last year. These kids came outta the ashes of the war, while you were gone. They’ve been out there blastin’ left and right. Makes for good radio.” </em>
</p><p><em> Cherri nods, smiling slightly towards his brothers. “Sounds like it. </em> <em>Couldn’t’ve banded together earlier and pitched in with the war efforts?”</em></p><p>
  <em> “We were busy,” Future Gerard says. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> That stops him in his tracks. “Pardon?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “We were busy,” Future Gerard says, cold as ice and distant and cutting. “I’ll be top left, here, pally. You’re a stranger. I’m not justifying myself to you.” </em>
</p><p><em> Cherri’s mouth goes dry. </em>That’s <b> not— </b></p><p>But it <b> is</b>. It so obviously is Gerard. From the cadence to the hair to the fury in their eyes, it’s Gerard. Somehow, B.L.I.’s made them forget, <em> Cherri reasons, </em> because Gerard would never talk to him like that. Maybe years-long brainwashing. who knows how long B.L.I. had to fuck with them. They might not—<br/><em><br/></em> <em> And oh, Cherri starts connecting the dots. If none of them recognize Cherri, then they don’t know that he can time travel. They don’t know that he’s the same person as Future Mikey, over there. Which means they probably don’t even know about the Academy or their powers. </em>And they don’t know they’re all brothers.</p><p>
  <em> “I’m Party Poison. And my brother, the Kobra Kid. Our crew here are Jet Star and Fun Ghoul,” Future Gerard says. “And that’s all you’re entitled to.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Okay. Cherri braces himself and seals away the part of him that’s Mikey, the part that wants to cry into Gerard’s shoulder and never let him out of his sight, the part that’s too weak. He pushes it into a box, locks it, and tucks it away in his head. “I’m Agent Cherri Cola. Nice to meet you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “We heard you do intel ops now,” Ray— or, Jet says. “It’s what we came for.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Plus my bet,” Future Frank mumbles. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “For intel on B.L.I.?” Cherri asks, furrowing his brows. “Uh, sure. I know their protocols. What exactly are you looking for, though?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Anything we can use for a leg up. We want leverage,” G- Party Poison says. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Well you could…” Cherri trails off from what was about to be a suggestion to blow up a building. “Oh fuck.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Cola?” D asks. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Autumn ‘79…” Cherri mutters. ”To '14. And a spontaneous… It lines up, that it would be October around the same time—“ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Cherri, what the hell are you talking about?” D cuts in. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Angel had a kid,” Cherri says. “While she was imprisoned. Miss Tiger Angel.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “… shit,” D says. "And you <strong>just</strong> realized this?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Cherri nods. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You’re saying we kidnap the child of the Analog War’s martyr?” Fun Ghoul asks, his eyebrows climbing up and up. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Angel would never want her kid in B.L.I.,” Cherri says firmly. “And if you could… if you could pull that off, it’d be… I mean, if you could save a child, show her the killjoy life… that’s the biggest fuck you in all the zones.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He sees the glint in Poison’s eye. “You’ll help plan it?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Of course,” Cherri says. He’ll always help when Gee asks. Even this Gee. Even if they don’t know how much they mean to him. </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> <strong>11 OCT 2017</strong><br/><br/></em>
</p><p>
  <em> He hears from the radio that Kobra and Jet are dead, which makes it very confusing when Dr. D issues a correction broadcast that night to say he was wrong. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Cherri parks outside D’s shack an hour and a half later and enters without knocking. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hey Cherri,” Pony says, “D’s on the air right now.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yeah, I was listening in the car,” Cherri says. “Do you know what happened?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “He was wrong. First time ever.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Cherri shakes his head. “I can’t believe it.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Me neither, but Party Poison radioed in at sundown, and he had Kobra and Jet talk to us. There’s no arguing with that.” </em>
</p><p><em> Except, Dr. D is always right. </em> <b> <em>Always.</em> </b> <em> Cherri knows this because he was the one who helped D hack into B.L.I.’s surveillance footage of the zones so they would be able to broadcast warnings to those who needed it. D’s broadcasts are always correct because he sees everything for himself. “And they said it never happened?” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Actually,” Pony says, “they said they had a near-death experience. Got knocked out and put in body bags. But they both woke up.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “That’s impossible,” Cherri says, “B.L.I. checks for a pulse before bagging corpses. D must’ve seen them do it.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hey, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Pony shrugs. “Thank the Witch and move on.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The Witch. Phoenix Witch. Goddess of Death. And Cherri realizes that maybe those stories about the desert’s grim reaper are more than superstition, because maybe Mother War’s taken on a new mantle, and maybe Poison still has some grasp on his powers. </em>
</p><p>Huh.</p><p> </p><hr/><p><em><br/></em> <b> <em>2 JUL 2018<br/></em></b></p><p>
  <em>Cherri hasn’t set foot outside in a couple days when the Fab Four finally return. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He hears the engine at a distance, and checks the windows with a raygun in hand as he always does when a car approaches his Derby Track. Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait until he can see the car to check if it’s B.L.I. or joy. No B.L.I. vehicles roar like the Trans-Am. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hey!” The Girl exclaims, tugging on his jeans. </em>
</p><p><em> “Nothin’ bad, kid. It’s the guys here to take you home,” Cherri promises, holstering his gun and bending down to pick her up. She’s tiny, only three. Cherri wishes he had the dates so he could know what her birthday is, but all he knows is a guess. Summer of ‘15, because Tiger Angel was dead by fall and he remembers being captured in spring. </em> <em> “Poi’s comin’?” </em> <em> “ </em></p><p>
  <em> Yeah, they’ll be here in a minute,” he agrees, tilting his head to the side so he can see her better on his hip. Her hair is monstrous, but she loves it so much that none of them can bear to make her cut it. But behind that, she’s got chubby cheeks from getting the first cut at rations and dirt she refuses to wash off and a smile that makes Cherri’s heart melt. Maybe he shouldn’t tell his brothers about their shared past, but The Girl has become a bridge. They let Cherri be a father figure to The Girl, and so in a way, they allow Cherri back into the family they don’t know they lost. It’s the sort of thing that keeps him going, searching for the perfect time travel equation to send himself back and fix this whole broken world. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I wan— I wanna see Jet,” The Girl says. “He brushes my hair better than you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Sure. Here they come now, wanna go outside and say hi?” Cherri asks. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Mhm,” The Girl says, nodding quickly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Okay,” Cherri says, hiking her up on his hip. He walks to the front door and pulls it open, and they watch the dust plumes of the car approach closer and closer until it slows to a stop in front of them. The doors pop open and The Girl’s hands reach out, away from Cherri as her face lights up. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hey, Girly!” Poison shouts with a grin. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hi!” The Girl shouts right back, making grabby hands. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Poison walks right up to them and takes The Girl from Cherri’s side, landing a kiss on her forehead before spinning her around and staring at her with comically wide eyes. “Did you miss us, Girly? I missed you so much!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “No, I missed you more,” she exclaims. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They’re all big softies when it comes to her. They’ve kept her origins under wraps, of course, because nobody could predict how certain killjoy crews would react to a kid born in the middle of B.L.I., but she’s been raised in the desert for a staggering majority of her life. As long as they don’t tell anyone, she’s just another desert-born sandpup. Cherri, obviously, has told the Fab Four how much she matters. He’s emphasized it, even when he couldn’t literally tell them that she would develop superpowers one day. They know how important she is. But it became clear to Cherri after a while that the Fab Four saw her as much more than a pawn in a fight against B.L.I. They really love her. He does too. Cherri glances away, at the other three, who head to the porch to get out of the sun. “How was the supply run?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “We had a good haul,” Ghoul says with a wink. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You’re regular tumbleweeds,” Cherri drawls jokingly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Kobra hums. “Warehouse employees were beamless. Never knew what hit ‘em.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You disabled security cams?” Cherri checks. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Of course,” Kobra nods. “We learned that lesson.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It’s still weird to talk to himself, but Cherri’s gotten over that. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Kobes,” Jet says as he elbows Kobra. “Did you wanna show Cola that thing?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Oh,” Kobra hums. “I’ve got this tattoo. I had it since I can remember. I think B.L.I. gave it to me when they had me. Do you think you could decode whatever it means?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Cherri waits as Kobra shucks his jacket off one arm. He wonders, not for the first time, how the four of them can live together for so many years and never notice their matching umbrella tattoos. But then Kobra’s right arm is extended to him, and Cherri frowns. One black square of a tattoo, and one tattoo that’s… “It’s a code, I’ll give you that. But…” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “But?” Jet prompts. </em>
</p><p><em> “It’s QR,” Cherri frowns. “Barcodes are the horizontal lines, not like this square. Think of barcodes like something that can hold ten numbers, and QR codes as something that can hold a bunch of text. B.L.I. only puts barcodes on terrorists so it’s easier to confirm identification on bodies quickly, but it doesn’t make sense for them to tag you </em> before <em> you were a terrorist. Besides, QR codes aren’t regulation.” </em></p><p>
  <em> “So it holds text?” Kobra asks. “Why would I have that on my arm? Why would B.L.I. put information on me?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You don’t remember your past before you woke up working in the City, do you? So it might not be from B.L.I.,” Cherri says. “QR codes can be encrypted, if you do it right. Maybe B.L.I. doesn’t even know what it means. DES encryptions are almost impossible if you don’t have the password or key.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “If B.L.I. couldn’t crack it, then it’s probably impossible. Who knows how long they had me captive. Had us,” Kobra says, gesturing to Poison, who’s now crouched down so the Girl can act some story out. “They must’ve seen it.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “We have no way of knowing what they did with it, even if they did crack it. Or maybe it’s an image or something, coded into a file,” Cherri says. “Maybe it’s worthless to B.L.I.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Kobra’s eyes spark. “Can’t argue that. B.L.I.’s pretty shitty when it comes to priorities.” </em>
</p><p><em> “Yeah. So do you wanna let me take a polaroid so I can try cracking it, or are we gonna stare at it all day?” Cherri asks </em> <em><br/></em></p><p> </p><hr/><p><em><br/></em> <b> <em>23 AUG 2018<br/><br/></em> </b></p><p>
  <b> <em>  </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> The code is cracked. It has been cracked. He cracked it in late July, having snagged a decryption software from a BLI network at a Zone 1 outpost, and he’s been sitting with the text file for a month, not telling Kobra that he’s solved it. Cherri hasn’t told anyone. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The code is text containing a set of instructions. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Many things make sense now. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Cherri sighs heavily and dips his sewing needle into the ink he’s taken from a ballpoint pen. And then, he presses it into his right arm. It's unfortunate that he’s right-handed and has to self-tattoo with his left hand, but as long as he takes it slow and follows the grid he measured out, he should be fine. This takes precision, and if he fucks up one pixel of this tattoo, the whole thing is worthless.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He’s copying Kobra’s tattoo. The exact same one. Down to the pixel. Not the location, though. He shifts the whole thing down, closer to his elbow. To the same place Kobra has a black box. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Right. Explanation. </em>
</p><p><em> The QR code is encrypted, yes, but it isn’t hard to access once you have a program that requests a password. Cherri had been sure from the moment he saw it that the message was meant for his eyes only, which meant it had to be something that he himself created. Or, you know. </em> Would <em> create. Anyways, the password would need to be something unrelated to public knowledge, just in case someone did their research on the Hargreeves family and could guess the names of family members. Obviously, he’d have to go with a password that nobody from B.L.I. would be able to connect to Number Five, or even Agent Cherri Cola. So, he typed in ‘Helena’ and hit enter. </em></p><p>
  <em> First try. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Unfortunately, the contents were much less comforting. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Information gathered from countless loops of time gathering intel on Better Living and advice on how to change history. It tells him what to do, all the way up until he dies and beyond. The fact that Kobra had it on his body is evidence enough that bodily alterations stay intact through time travel. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> So, he has to copy the tattoo on himself so he can consult it later. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When he goes back. </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p><em><br/></em> <b> <em>21 NOV 2019<br/></em></b></p><p>
  <em>He sees the shootout over the cameras. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There’s no time to cry. He can’t go to their bodies and mourn, because dracs and crows are all over the scene the second Chimp drives the van away with the Girl. Everything makes sense in a cruel way, because the words on the file told him that he couldn’t go with them. And he didn’t know why, but now he does. Now, he knows for sure that his inaction is mandatory. He can’t change this timeline anymore. That’s not his job. His job is surviving to reset it. That way, this will never happen. </em>
</p><p><em> But he watches the bodies on the camera from the Doctor’s Office longer than he should. </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> He doesn’t think he can be blamed for that. His brothers are dead. Half of them, right here in front of him, and that’s his fault. Because he didn’t go with them to get The Girl back, and because he never told them why B.L.I. wanted her so badly in the first place. The other three brothers are missing, have been for… going on four years now, but Cherri doesn’t have much faith in their survival. He’s still not sure how the four of these Hargreeves got to Cali and survived, but he wouldn’t place his bets on Bob, Brian and Otter being so lucky. </em></p><p>
  <em> So, in short, his whole family is gone, and it’s his fault. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Except The Girl. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Because she’s only four. She’s a toddler, but she was family to the Fab Four, and so family to Cherri too. Party loved her so much. The gifted child, miraculously born at the end of the world. At least she’s alive. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He can hardly believe he has to stay. Cherri doesn’t really want to. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He doesn’t have a choice. </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p><b> <em><br/>27 JANUARY 2025<br/><br/></em> </b> <b></b></p><p>
  <em> These days, Cherri tries to stay out of B.L.I. business. He doesn’t see the point. As long as The Girl survives long enough to make her move, it doesn’t matter. The Girl is independent now, and nobody’s keen on keeping her prisoner. No reason for Cherri to chase her. He’s pretty much a neutral at this point. Mike Milligram would’ve hated who he’d become. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> That’s not to say he’s <strong>actually</strong> a pacifist. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He sometimes runs with the Noise Boys, a group of punk ‘joys who haven’t been around too long. They’re rowdy little sand pups, but that’s what being a killjoy is about. When it comes down to it, they’re kind. Cherri thinks that they understand what matters. </em>
</p><p><em> One afternoon, as Cherri drives them down to Zone 3 for some much-needed supplies, listening to WKIL on low volume. Over the radio, Dr. D introduces Z</em>ero Percent <em>and lets the music play on. Cherri just listens to Party Poison’s voice. </em></p><p>
  <em> “So, I know you knew them personally,” Little Violence says quietly, mindful of Royal and New Wave sleeping in the back seat. “But I miss the Fab Four too. They were the voice of the desert. I lost my whole family in the wars, but they were out there, fighting for us every day. They proved that our way of life makes life worth living.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Cherri blinks. “Did you ever meet them?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yeah,” Violence says. “They were… they were on another level.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “They were,” Cherri agrees. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When they ask him for help, he picks up his raygun. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Otherwise, he just runs the Derby. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And calculates. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Some day, he’ll have the theorem ready. </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p><em><br/></em> <b> <em>30 OCT 2031</em> </b></p><p><em><br/></em> <em> He’s dead. </em> <em><br/></em> <em><br/></em> <em> He’s been thinking a lot about death ever since Gerard died. Or— since Party died. Same thing. With them gone, Cherri’s thought about this apocalypse world and how it’s lost its Séance - its only person who could ever help souls find their way. He hadn’t been sure if Phoenix Witch was real, but Party believed in her more than anyone, and Cherri had a suspicion that Gerard would always be the expert on death in some form or another. </em></p><p>
  <em> And here he is, sitting up, his legs still phased into his dead body as his ghost slowly gets up. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I’ll bring you back tomorrow,” a voice tells him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He looks over his shoulder and sees the figure who addressed him. Phoenix Witch. She sounds different. Cherri guesses that it’s because they’re still on Earth and not in the land of the dead. She’s floating ever so slightly, with limbs covered completely in dark wrap and body covered with a huge feather cloak; hockey mask on her face as if she’s some sort of serial killer. The voids where her eyes should be are all-encompassing, but he can tell somehow that she’s making eye contact. They stare each other down. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She watches him for a long moment. “Your brother—“ </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I know,” he says. He read the file. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “As always, I agreed to do him a favor. This is your first chronological death. From your point of view, anyway, not from actual chronological order. I’ll bring you back like always. But I’ll need to take a detour — that one’s not dead,” the Witch says, raising a finger to point at The Girl’s body. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “She’s not?“ Cherri asks absently. He doesn’t know yet if her survival is good or bad for the world as a whole, but selfishly, he wants her to live. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Wouldn’t I know? She won’t be able to see you, so shh,” she says. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Okay.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The Witch shoos away some birds and reaches down for his mask when— </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Hey!” The Girl shouts. “Get away from him!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The Witch looks over her shoulder, and the both of them stare together at The Girl. The Girl looks ghostly in a way Cherri doesn’t see in his own skin. The Witch barely pauses what she was doing, plucking up his mask by the string. “Poor soul. The first time he picks up a gun in years, he gets gunned down. And it was because of you, you know. He was trying to save you.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “He did save me. He gave his life to save mine,” The Girl says shakily. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Did he, now?” The Witch asks, amused that The Girl is wiping away tears when Cherri’s still here. Cherri sorta wishes he could punch her, but she’s death or god or something, so that would be a terrible idea. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He stands, feeling oddly invisible as he follows them to the Witch’s shopping cart. </em>
</p><p><em> The Witch introduces herself, but makes a comment about how she has many names, and Cherri’s left chuckling about the first time Gerard told him that god was a lady called Mother War. Gerard introduced them once, actually. It took Cherri a while to make sure that Phoenix Witch was really the same entity, but he believes. </em> <b> <em>Believed</em> </b> <em> . Again, he’s always deferred to Gerard as the expert on death. </em></p><p>
  <em> Just as they’re about to go, The Girl looks back towards where their bodies are still laying in the dirt. “What about Cola — is he going to be okay?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The Witch turns her head directly to Cherri. “He’s dead. So yes.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Cherri flashes a slight smile. </em>
</p><p><em> “But don’t worry— we have known each other since a long time and a different world ago. I’ll take care of him,” she says. “Hurry up, now— we don’t have much time. There’s something I have to tell you… there’s a choice you have to make.” </em> <em><br/><br/></em></p><hr/><p><em><br/></em> <b> <em>31 OCT 2031</em> </b></p><p><em><br/></em> <em> “I thought she would choose better this time,” the Witch sighs. </em></p><p>
  <em> “One day she might,” Cherri says, standing beside her in his own body, recently reanimated. She's taken his killjoy mask and Dr. D's dog tags, but that’s okay. This world is as dead as the bodies in the rubble remains of Batt City. There's now a crater where the city once stood. Without their supplies and the shield generators, everyone in the desert will die soon of infighting or starvation or radiation, and then humanity will be truly extinct. Again. “How many times has she detonated?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Many,” Phoenix Witch says. “She has yet to refrain from doing so.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em> “That’s not a number.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “About twenty loops ago, you made me promise not to tell you. Your morale is invaluable.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Oh.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The Witch looks out over the landscape again. “It’s such a childish choice. So petty.” </em>
</p><p><em> “She </em> <b> <em>is </em> </b> <em> a child. She was angry,” Cherri says. “That city took everything from her.” </em></p><p>
  <em> “She’s killed the world.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Just this timeline. I’ll keep trying,” Cherri says. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Your ability to travel another path does not make you the judge of which paths matter,” she says. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I don’t care about which paths matter in a cosmic sense,” Cherri says. “I care about finding the path that fixes all of this.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Selfish,” she says, simply.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"It's not for me."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"It's for your family. When they are your metric for happiness, any acts done for them are ultimately for yourself as well," she chides, but then sighs. "I would be lying though, if I were to say that preventing all of this wouldn't bring me some form of satisfaction. The window for life in the universe is infinitesimal, grandly speaking. It's practically a blink of an eye before the stars burn out and eventually all matter does as well. Closing the window before its time is... tragic, for lack of a better word."</em>
</p><p><em>He turns his head to face her. </em> <em>"Thank you. For everything you’ve done. Not just for bringing me back because Gerard asked. But for actually caring for the souls of the desert. It meant so much to so many.” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Go. Try to fix the next world,” the Witch dismisses. “I’ll clean up the rest of this one.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Cherri reaches out his hands, and then he feels for 2008. It's not in his grasp yet, but he can sense it's there, and he can lock on and drag his way through spacetime until he gets there.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His hands light up.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The violent warping of spacetime completely obscures the dying world he's left behind, but he doesn't look back to notice.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Apparently I am not immune to the overwhelming urge to explain every connection between the Killjoys comic, music videos, and album at the first possible opportunity. Whoops. (The killjoys Cherri rides with in 2021 are the band Waterparks from <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhTheTerrifyingRarityOfTruth">OhTheTerrifyingRarityOfTruth’s</a> <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/series/1565509">Killjoy AU</a>! Please check out her series, it’s very good)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Honey-Lemon & Static</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Back to your regularly scheduled 2008.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>MONDAY 2:49<br/>
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</b>
</p><p>He wakes up with a jolt.</p><p>“Mikey?” a surprised voice asks.</p><p>And he whips his head around, reaching for his belt, for his—</p><p>Hol…</p><p>No holster. No raygun. But that’s okay. It’s 2008. He’s Mikey again, and he presses his eyes shut and breathes out hard through his nose. “Right.”</p><p>“Mikey, are you feeling okay?” the voice asks worriedly. Mikey opens his eyes to see Brian, hovering over the infirmary bed where Mikey is laying. "How's your head?"</p><p>“Fine,” Mikey says without thinking. And it’s relatively honest anyway. The headache that hits him is mild— bearable honestly. He just needs to get up and back to work. He’s lost so much time. As a point of order, actually, “Brian, how long have I been out?”</p><p>“A while,” Brian says with a frown. “Dude, they knocked you out last night. It’s three in the afternoon.”</p><p>Mikey sighs. “Fuck, okay. What happened?”</p><p>“That bald guy knocked you out, man. I know you’re like, thirty mentally, but this body is sixteen.”</p><p>“I’m aware,” Mikey mumbles. He's felt constant discomfort for days now, with the way his skin doesn't fit him right. It's the oddest sensation, being in a body healthier and weaker than he's adjusted to, but it means he never for a second forgets to pay attention. It's made his reflexes faster, made his dexterity sharper if only because he's constantly making sure his hand-eye coordination is more reliant on the eye than the hand. That's not the sort of thing that one forgets about.</p><p>“Well anyway, it hardly mattered because the second he knocked your lights out, a bunch of other guys in white suits broke in and started shooting. He must’ve had a wire, or some form of communication. We lost track of him in the chaos. Frank says sorry for not being more specific in his ‘don’t escape’ rumor. He thinks that rescue efforts don’t constitute an escape.”</p><p>Mikey glances around again, noting his position in the infirmary and the lack of anyone else. “Alright. As long as nobody else got hurt—“</p><p>“Well…” Brian interrupts, but then he hesitates.</p><p>“What?” Mikey asks.</p><p>“The bald guy wasn’t the only one we lost in the chaos.”</p><p>“Someone’s dead?” Mikey asks with growing alarm.</p><p>“No— no we don’t <em>think—</em>“ Brian takes a deep breath and crosses his arm. “No. They took Gee.”</p><p>He stares at Brian for a long moment.</p><p>“Mikey—“</p><p>“I’ll go get him,” Mikey mutters.</p><p>“<strong>What</strong>—?”</p><p>“I’ll be back,” Mikey says absently before he jumps.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He makes it through three motels before he stutters to a stop at the one with a crime scene. Mikey’s method thus far had been scouting out the parking lots, largely because B.L.I. are a bunch of idiots who refuse to drive cars that aren’t white, and a load of white cars would definitely be noticeable in the middle of the clusterfuck that is Newark. Instead, Luna Motor Lodge Motel has a few dozen cop cars.</p><p>“What—“ Mikey mutters under his breath. He glances at the investigators and the yellow tape and realizes there’s no way he’ll be able to talk his way into getting details. Not in this body.</p><p>His hands reach for his phone instead, and he’s speed-dialing number two.</p><p>He waits and waits and when the click comes, Mikey says, “I found a crime sight, and I need to know if you have access to details.”</p><p>“Wh— Mikey? You’re up?”</p><p>“Focus, Ray,” Mikey says.</p><p>There’s a pause. “Is this about the motel?”</p><p>“Yeah. What do you know?”</p><p>“I— okay, it’s a long story. It’s been a long day. So, my— uh, I know a detective, and when I told her about Gee being gone, she said she’d help me look. So Bob and I went out looking for him with her, and we found that motel, right? The detective insisted on going first, and she got shot, but we cut Gerard free before the shootout got too crazy. We lost track of where he went afterwards, but we kept an eye on all the future guys. They didn’t get him. He just ran away.”</p><p>“Okay?”</p><p>“So now I’m in the hospital with that detective. Bob’s still looking for Gee. Believe it or not, we think it’ll be harder to find him now that he’s not kidnapped. At least we can guess where time-travel assassins will be spending their nights.”</p><p>“Gee’s not hard to predict.”</p><p>“Have you forgotten who Gee is?” Ray asks incredulously.</p><p>“Of course not,” Mikey frowns.</p><p>“I know you’ve been gone for years, Mikes, but Gerard <em>isn’t</em> the person you knew,” Ray says, sounding frustrated and upset and regretful. “He’s an addict. He couch surfs. He’s never in the same place. I know because I’ve been the one keeping tabs on him the whole time. There’s no way to tell where he’s run off to.”</p><p>“You’re an idiot,” Mikey says, and then he hangs up.</p><p>He turns and jumps.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Across town, he lands in the aisle of a church, turning around and glancing across the empty pews. “Gee?”<br/>
<br/>
He had to be here.</p><p>This is where they had Elena’s funeral — the one Father didn’t agree to until Frank rumored him. True, everyone had been devastated when Elena’s software began deteriorating; their brothers appreciated her as a caretaker and a gentle hand, but Gerard and Mikey had been the only two who believed deeply that she was as human as any real person. When she was wrecked in the collateral damage of a break in, Father refused to fix her. It wrecked Gerard, when she was gone and had no ghost and he and Mikey suddenly had to face the fact that their favorite person had vanished in a way somehow more permanent than death. They were forced to reconcile both her absence from their lives and definitive proof that she was so inhuman that she literally had no soul.</p><p>This church is also only a block away from the mausoleum, so this is where Mikey would bring Gerard when he broke Gee of his “special training”. Of course Gerard had to be in the mausoleum when Father returned, so they couldn’t go home because they couldn’t outpace Father’s car, but they could come here and talk for hours and hours with Mikey teleporting periodically to check the Academy garage for if Father’s car had left. It’s a place that Gerard associates with resolution. With escaping trauma, with finding closure. So Mikey knows that this is where Gerard has to be.</p><p>“Gee! Gerard!” Mikey shouts. He laces up and down the aisle, looking between the pews just because it’s possible that Gerard’s on the ground somewhere. “<strong>Gerard</strong>!”</p><p>He’s about to sigh and start searching the entire church grounds when he turns around and finally notices something out of place in front of the altar. There’s a lone briefcase, sitting on the ledge of the chancel.</p><p><em> Briefcase, </em> he thinks. <em> Time travel. B.L.I. property. </em> <b> <em>Gerard.</em> </b></p><p>Mikey rushes forward and opens the case.</p><p>He has to stumble back from the blue glow that erupts, engulfing the area. He covers his eyes for a few seconds to combat the light, but it recedes quickly enough that damage isn’t an actual worry.</p><p>When he looks, Gerard is on the ledge, sitting, clutching the briefcase tight. He’s different. Visibly. Physically. Wearing a green button-up, a tie, slacks. There’s patches on the sleeves, like it’s a uniform. Black hair, cut evenly at the sides and longer on the top. His body is thinner, so noticeably that Mikey’s stomach drops because that kind of weight loss is never healthy.</p><p>“Gee,” Mikey mutters. He doesn’t bother stepping forward, just teleports and he’s sitting beside Gerard.</p><p>Gerard flinches.</p><p>Mikey freezes in place. Gerard's never batted an eye at his spatial jumps before. <em>Something's very fucking wrong.</em></p><p>“Go away, Mikes,” Gerard whispers under his breath. “They can’t see me talking to you.”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“Frank and Ray and Bob. They <em>can’t</em>— Mikey. They can’t.”</p><p>“… uh. Why?”</p><p>“They don’t know I can see you,” Gerard whispers. “You need to go.”</p><p>Scans Gerard and notices the shaking hands, the tear tracks, the unfocused look in his eye. “Hey, Gee, can you look at me?”</p><p>Gerard doesn’t move for a long moment, but he finally does, slowly turning his head and glancing out of the corner of his eyes.</p><p>He tries to decide how to proceed. Obviously, Gerard’s time travelled, and is upset. Maybe gone crazy, if he thinks Mikey has died. The damage has yet to make itself clear. But sitting silently in an empty church won’t fix anything, at the very least. And more prominently, he can’t fix what he doesn’t understand. Mikey resigns himself to interrogation, even though he’s sure Gerard doesn’t want more questions right now. “Hey, please talk to me? Nobody’s around to hear. It’s just you and me.”</p><p>Gerard curls tighter around the briefcase and closes his eyes.</p><p>“When did you go?”</p><p>Gerard says nothing.</p><p>“Gee,” Mikey pleads. He watches Gerard flinch at his voice, but he refuses to give up, so he just lowers his volume as he continues. “What year do you think it is?”</p><p>“'S 1944,” Gerard mumbles.</p><p><em> That’s a bad year to be in. </em> Mikey swallows and keeps going. “So you know that you time-travelled?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Are you hurt?” Mikey asks.</p><p>“No. No, not hurt. Just tired.”</p><p>“What happened to you?”</p><p>“Nothing new.”</p><p>Mikey moves slowly, afraid to startle Gerard, but needing to get in his line of sight. He positions himself in front of Gerard and kneels. “Hey. Gee, look at me. Really look at me.”</p><p>Gerard looks up.</p><p>“I’m not dead.”</p><p>Gerard’s face twists. “Mikey, you say this every—“</p><p>“Try to banish me, then. Try to make me incorporeal. Try anything you can do on ghosts, and look back at me, and see that I’m alive,” Mikey says.</p><p>“Mikey, I miss you more than anything,” Gerard whispers. “I miss you more than I thought a person could ever miss anything. More than I miss drugs, more than I miss technology. I love you more than the world, and I’ll never love anything else as much as I love you, but please don’t say things like that. I tried — the cowboy said I couldn’t get you back.”</p><p>“Cowboy?”</p><p>Gerard frowns a little, the first trades of doubt seeping into his expression. “Yeah the… the— Mikes I told you this. You should remember— Mother War isn't in charge of the dead here, it's a guy, and it's a cowboy. He’s… Mikey, I <em> know </em>I told you all of this before. You always remember that part, because you always tell me you must not be dead if Mama didn't say so herself. Why don't you remember?”</p><p>“I don’t know what happened to you, or where you think ‘here’ is, but if you give me that briefcase, I might be able to figure it out.”</p><p>“No— this is how I got trapped in—“ Gerard pauses, frowning harder. “I got… how do I have…?”</p><p>“Gerard, I can figure it out. Let me look.”</p><p>Gerard slowly lets go of the briefcase and slides it into Mikey’s arms.</p><p>Mikey’s checking the calibrations at once. He hasn’t gotten his hands on a briefcase so far, but he’d seen the encoded schematics, and he knows how it runs. Subtle dials on the locks, on the fastenings. It’s calibrated to 1944, that much is true, but there’s a tag sticking from the handle that catches his eye. He scans the letters on it and feels his stomach drop.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>ALT. TIMELINE SIM. - WWII - LOVED ONES</b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>So Gerard hasn't <em>time traveled</em> at all. This isn’t a standard briefcase. It’s meant to send someone to an alternate timeline where people - but not events - are placed where they historically aren't meant to be. It’s set for World War II to bring the victim's family into the war. Mikey has a moment to be horrified that B.L.I. has stolen the power to create an <em>entire fucking alternate reality</em> before he swallows and realizes that Korse probably stole that from Frank. This is one fucked-up cocktail, though. To combine a rumor with his own time travel to make the most terrifying hallucination possible.</p><p>This is another torture device.</p><p>“Fuck,” Mikey bites, cursing Korse. That bastard always knows how people react in fear, and Mikey has no doubts that he intentionally let Gerard take the briefcase so he would get trapped.</p><p>“Mikey?”</p><p>“How long were you in ‘44, Gee?”</p><p>“Ten months,” Gerard says, frowning.</p><p>“What you saw wasn’t real for us, Gerard. It’s been less than a day here. It’s 2008, it’s Monday, and it was only last night that you got kidnapped. All of ‘44 was a big torture tactic, Gee. They sent you to a timeline of your nightmares, but none of it ever happened here. None of us were in World War II, not in the real timeline. They wanted to get in your head,” Mikey says, but Gerard just stares at him blankly. “Gee? Do you understand?”</p><p>Gerard raises a shaking hand to Mikey’s cheek, brushes against it carefully. “…You’re warm.”</p><p>“I’m alive.”</p><p>Gerard blinks. “If we’re—“</p><p>Mikey waits for him to collect his thoughts.</p><p>“Then prove it. Brian died, too. Months… well, for me it was months ago. If it wasn’t real, he’ll still be around.”</p><p>“I have to get you home first.”</p><p>Gerard’s lip wobbles and he frowns. “Dunno if I can walk that far right now, Mikes. I’m so tired,”</p><p>“I can take care of getting you home,” Mikey says. He carefully reaches out a hand, palm up towards Gerard. “Trust me?”</p><p>Gerard slowly lifts his own hand and slides it against Mikey’s palm.</p><p>Mikey jumps.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>So it turns out that jumping with another person is comparable to time travel in terms of the resulting headache, but Gerard doesn’t seem phased when they end up sitting on the stairs of the Hargreeves mansion.</p><p>Mikey groans, dropping his head to his against Gerard’s leg and squeezing his eyes shut. “Okay. So <em> that’s </em>why I need an equation. Duly fucking noted.”</p><p>“Y… you can teleport with someone?”</p><p>“I’ve been working on the math, yes,” Mikey says, head pounding with every heartbeat. It fucking hurts, but what can he do but wait it out? “I hadn’t tried. It was just theoretical until now.”</p><p>After a moment, Gerard’s hand comes up and rubs gently between his shoulders. It reminds Mikey of when they were really young, when Father started making them push their powers to their limits. Back then, Mikey would teleport upwards of a hundred times in an hour until he felt like his physical body would get lost in-between, and Gerard would always be there with a hug to prove he was all still in one place. Mikey breathes in and out for a long, long couple of minutes, and when he looks up, Gerard is staring right back.</p><p>“Okay. Brian?”</p><p>“You promise he’s alive?”</p><p>“Look around, Gee. We’re back at the Academy,” Mikey says helplessly.</p><p>“I’ve had dreams like this,” Gerard says. “Ray says guys get shellshock and end up dreaming of home.”</p><p>“Gerard, you know you grew up in the 80s,” Mikey says. “Ray has never time travelled in his life. He’s never been in 1944.”</p><p>“Okay,” Gerard whispers. “Show me Brian.”</p><p>They look around the house for a while, because it’s a giant mansion and finding anyone is difficult. They actually run into Worm first, who Gerard is too shocked to speak to, but who tells them that Frank and Brian are on the roof.</p><p>Mikey leads Gerard up to the roof, of course. He’s hesitant that Gerard’s going to shatter under the emotion, but he can’t think of a single damn reason to let his brother believe they aren’t okay.</p><p>So he opens the door and leads Gerard out by the elbow.</p><p>Frank turns instantly, his eyes widening upon seeing Gerard. His arm swings out to make contact with Brian, who jumps and turns too. “Woah, you found ‘im,” Frank says to Mikey (but clearly about Gerard).</p><p>“Gee, hey,” Brian says, frowning deeply. “What— are you wearing?”</p><p>There’s no response. They stand in the summer air for another long moment. Mikey looks up and Gerard is crying again.</p><p>“Your hair…” Frank mutters.</p><p>“Gee. You’re back,” Mikey promises. “It was real to you in the moment, but that’s what they wanted you to think. It’s not your fault that they tricked you. You just need to know that it was a trick.”</p><p>“I believe you,” Gerard whispers. He glances down, at where Mikey’s still holding the briefcase. “Mikey, don’t let anyone else get close to that thing.”</p><p>“I won’t.”</p><p>“Mind filling us in?” Frank says, stepping closer with his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Are you okay? What did they do to you?”</p><p>“They…” Gerard presses his lips together. “Mikey says they used their technology to mess with me.”</p><p>“They trapped him in an alternate timeline,” Mikey clarifies. "Like, a pocket universe tailored to put him in a terrible situation."</p><p>“Yeah, that,” Gerard says. “And— Mikey says it’s barely been any time at all, but for me it was ten months.”</p><p>“… You don’t look good, Gee,” Frank whispers.</p><p>“Don’t feel good either,” Gerard replies.</p><p>Frank frowns. He reaches up slowly, but stops when Gerard flinches from the motion. “This isn’t you. Do you want to bleach it again?”</p><p>“Maybe, yeah,” Gerard says. “Maybe dye it. Just so— so I know I’m back. ‘Cause they didn’t. Y’know. Have hair dye where I was.”</p><p>“I could help,” Frank says quietly.</p><p>Gerard looks at Mikey quickly, worry written all over his face.</p><p>“Frank won’t hurt you,” Mikey says.</p><p>"I know," Gerard says under his breath, but he's still staring at Mikey, searching for something. Approval, or permission, or something.</p><p>Mikey tries, “I’ll be right down the hall. Whenever you need me, I'm not far, and neither is Brian. We’re not going anywhere.”</p><p>“Okay,” Gerard sighs. He looks back at Frank debating, but his shoulders slump and he nods. “Okay. Let’s go.”</p><p>Frank puts a hand on Gerard’s back and leads him back inside, nodding thankfully at Mikey as he passes. Mikey nods back and watches them go.</p><p>Mikey sighs and rubs at his nose with his free hand. The other grips the briefcase, and he wonders where he should put it. It has to be somewhere nobody could touch it by mistake. He doesn't want to inflict World War II on anyone else.</p><p>“Hello? Yeah,” Brian’s voice says. Mikey looks over and Brian’s on the phone, one hand in his pocket. “Yeah, we got Gee back here… Mikey woke up and found him. Yeah. I don’t know… Well, he’s real fucked up, but I think it’s fixable. You can come home, though.”</p><p>He takes a second to just watch Brian listen. Of course Brian would remember to call their brothers and let them know. Brian’s always on top of everything. Which— oh, that gives Mikey an idea.</p><p>“Do you want me to tell Ray too? … Alright, fine by me. We’ll be here. Okay. Bye.”</p><p>“Brian, are you busy?” Mikey says.</p><p>Brian jumps a little. “Jesus, Mikey, I thought you went inside.”</p><p>Mikey shrugs. “So?”</p><p>“… no, not busy at the moment,” Brian says.</p><p>“Cool. Come with me?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Mikey brings Brian to Father’s office and makes Brian sit at Father’s desk while Mikey takes one of the seats on the other side.</p><p>“I’m losing too much time to family stuff,” Mikey says. “I’m supposed to stop the apocalypse, and all I’ve done is pretend to be an intern and learn which convention The Director will be at in Japan later this week, which is basically useless, because if that were helpful I would’ve saved the world already.”</p><p>“Alright?” Brian asks.</p><p>“So I’m going to tell you absolutely everything that I know, because you’re very good at making plans and managing people and apparently, I suck at it.”</p><p>“… oh,” Brian says. “Okay, we can give that a shot.”</p><p>Mikey starts first with B.L.I.’s structure, how they have Dracs under ‘crows under Exterminators. He explains the technology they have that’s created with powers that Korse has stolen, and how they used it to bend the world’s survivors to their will. And then, he starts in on his personal knowledge. The time loop he’s in, the tattoo on his left arm, the code and what it says and how it must be the accumulation of his past-selves’ most important knowledge. He borrows Brian’s phone to scan the code and enter his password so they can both look at the shorthand text that’s encrypted and then explains how everything has lined up so far. Privately, he wonders if this is the exact reason that he was told to copy this QR code onto his body; if he’s destined to share his exact words with Brian every time.</p><p>When Mikey finally runs out of things to explain, Brian nods thoughtfully.</p><p>“Can you make anything of that?” Mikey asks.</p><p>“I think you should write out your time travel equation for me,” Brian says.</p><p>“You just heard the fate of the world and the first thing you want to do is check my math?”</p><p>“I want to understand what you did,” Brian mutters as he leans down and pulls a set of pages from Father’s desk. He scans over them and then overturns them so their blank backs are facing up on the desk, and he slides it over with a fountain pen. “Write your equation.”</p><p>Mikey stares at him warily but takes the pen and begins writing out the theorem he’d spent a decade trying to prove. He relaxes into the rhythm of writing, hyper aware of his surroundings due to habit but focused intently on copying down the variables from where they stay ingrained in his mind. His mind has been the only place to keep them; Mikey’s experience of the laws of physics is fundamentally different than anyone else’s. Even his equations for third dimensional travel were child’s play in comparison to the fourth dimension. The exponential growth in complexity was what made teleportation something he could do dozens of times in an hour while time travel was something he could pull off maybe thrice in a lifetime, but he memorized it all meticulously. Writing it out is sort of therapeutic. When he finishes it, he turns the paper around and shows Brian.</p><p>Brian nods. “I was reading as you wrote,” Brian says. “You wrote a theorem, not an equation.”</p><p>“For context,” Mikey says.</p><p>“You do know that you’re jumping timelines, right? Not looping the same one?”</p><p>“What do the semantics matter?”</p><p>“It matters a lot,” Brian says, blinking in surprise. “Jumping timelines means that even though Better Living has the technology to time travel, they aren’t learning from the times you fail. Who knows what you did the first time when you went to 2015, but when you came back, you switched timelines.”</p><p>“I just did that to avoid a causal time loop,” Mikey shrugs.</p><p>“Nonetheless, it gives us a much better chance at actually stopping the end of the world,” Brian points out.</p><p>“How do we <em> do that, </em> though?”</p><p>“It looks like you’re fully capable of teleporting while carrying other people, and that you intended to use that as a means of transport to bring us to California, presumably to corner The Director there,” Brian says. “Your code told you that she’d be in Japan on Wednesday?”</p><p>Mikey nods.</p><p>“Then that’s when we should get to California and start looking for her. If the world ends on Friday, she’ll be bringing in either supplies or personnel. I’m thinking personnel; the way you described Better Living gives me the impression that they likely stocked up on necessary supplies a long time ago.”</p><p>“Okay?”</p><p>“Which means a lot of people will be moving to one location in California on Thursday. And I’m betting we can track them to where Battery City will be,” Brian clarifies.</p><p>“Oh. Sick,” Mikey mutters.</p><p>“That leaves us today and tomorrow to learn as much as we can about Better Living and make it count, because every time we fail, we lose everything we learned except for what we tattoo on your body,” Brian says, glancing at Mikey’s arm. “Not to mention that Korse and the others from 2020 are still out there. I’ll have to do some thinking. I doubt that this is the first time you’ve come to me for help, and the fact that the world isn’t safe yet tells us that I haven’t made a good enough plan so far. Meaning that I’ll have to skip over some of the more obvious next steps.”</p><p>“So much of this is filled with instructions. I wish there were a way to encode a longer message,” Mikey sighs. “That way we could have a log of all the past attempts. Maybe I should just make a bunch of QR codes and have them all over my arm?”</p><p>Brian shakes his head. “That’s not a great idea. You need to keep it covert. I bet Better Living would never let you go if you put codes all over your skin. One QR code slides under the radar because they assume there’s not much other than an image or a little bit of text, but they would definitely try to code crack something bigger. And if your future self can’t escape Battery City, then the next loop’s Cherri Cola would never meet Kobra to learn about the loop, and then we’re back to square one on trial-and-error. That is, assuming that Cherri Cola figures out what to do on his own <em> at all. </em> I think it’s a better call to stick with giving tips and hints that your next loops can build off once they figure it out.”</p><p>“But how can we optimize without knowing what we’ve already tried?” Mikey asks.</p><p>Brian shakes his head. “We’ve got to do what we can with what we have. We’ll start with learning what we can digitally. I’m thinking they’ve got to have publicly listed staff somewhere, and if not publicly, they’ve got to have legal documents for who’s on staff. Even if they’re an evil entity masquerading as a company, there’s paper trails we can follow.”</p><p>“How the fuck are you so good at this?”</p><p>Brian blinks slowly. “This is all Father thought I was good for.”</p><p>And, okay, Mikey knew that, admittedly. The ugly truth is that if you weren’t useful, Father hated you. And unfortunately, children seek approval. Back then, Brian sank so much time and effort into making himself an asset to the Umbrella Academy, and still Father refused to let him partake. He was excluded even from the press. There’s comic books about the Umbrella Academy’s adventures and origins and Brian’s never even mentioned.</p><p>Though he’s not sure what’s happened in the years he’s been gone, Mikey’s fairly sure he hasn’t missed a miraculous change of heart on Father’s side. That, and when he thinks over the past few days, he can’t really remember anyone going out of their way to talk to Brian. Or start a conversation with him at all. Mikey feels a sinking feeling in his gut as he realizes that Father’s rule about leaving Brian to his studies is still being followed, even after they refused it, even after years of breaking from most of Father’s other rules, even after Father’s death. They’re still falling in line.</p><p>“He was never right about that,” Mikey says. “You’re fuckin’ awesome at it, <em>obviously</em>. But he was wrong to say you weren’t special.”</p><p>“I’m not, though,” Brian says.</p><p>“Everyone’s special,” Mikey says. “I don’t think I got that until I lived through an apocalypse that stripped people of their identity. But I get it now.”</p><p>“Don't hit me with that cheesy bullshit. That's not what I meant. I still don’t have a superpower.”</p><p>“You never needed that to be my brother,” Mikey says firmly.</p><p>Brian meets his eye with a firm expression.</p><p>Well, okay, admittedly their family’s particular brotherly activities did consist of mostly up-close crime-fighting. “We don’t <em> mean </em>to exclude you.”</p><p>“I know that,” Brian says. “But he’s gone. What’s your excuse now?”</p><p>“Yeah. No, yeah, that’s a good point,” Mikey sighs. “I’ll try harder. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“You’re the least guilty of anyone. You were gone for a very long time. But that doesn’t change that nobody else bothered to be there for me. Not even when I was stepping in to help.”</p><p>“Okay, but in their defense, it sounds to me like none of them were there for each other either? Like, Bob got put in time out on the moon and nobody checked up on him either.”</p><p>Brian chuckles. “I guess that’s true.”</p><p>“We’ll try harder,” Mikey says. “We love you.”</p><p>“I love you too.”</p><p>“Good. Glad we haven't fucked that up yet.”</p><p>Brian cracks a tired smile, and though it's not much more emotion than usual, it speaks volumes for Brian.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Ray doesn’t come home, so Mikey goes to visit him.</p><p>“Did someone call you?” Mikey asks once he teleports into the hospital room.</p><p>“Shh. Bob’s sleeping,” Ray says. A few feet to Ray's left, Bob is, in fact, napping in a hospital chair that is comically too small for him. “How’d you find the room?”</p><p>“I asked Brian for her last name,” Mikey says, motioning to Christa. “And from there I just had to check the hospital database for which room she’s in.”</p><p>“And how’d you find Gerard?”</p><p>“The church.”</p><p>Ray swallows and ducks his head. “Oh.”</p><p>“He’s changed. But not that much,” Mikey says.</p><p>There’s no response, so Mikey walks up to the bedside, where there’s a woman asleep - or unconscious - underneath the sheets.</p><p>“She’s pretty.”</p><p>“Easy, tiger. You’re walking jailbait right now,” Ray says.</p><p>“I’d bet that she’s off limits anyway,” Mikey says. “So are you two actually an item, or did you lie to get the nursing staff to let you stay?”</p><p>“… We’re engaged,” Ray says. “I met her at the police academy. She was the first real person I’d ever met, and I’ve never found anyone who brought me down to Earth the way she does.”</p><p>“How is she?” Mikey asks quietly.</p><p>“Fine. It was nearly a graze. In and out, near the hip. Just bled enough to give everyone a scare. She’ll be discharged tomorrow and working again in a week.”</p><p>“Could she be up before that?”</p><p>Ray squints at him. “You want to bring her into this mess?”</p><p>“Yeah, kinda.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“If she’s gonna be my sister-in-law, then she may as well get used to the family,” Mikey says. “We could use another set of hands.”</p><p>“You’re sure?”</p><p>“Once we go to California to corner The Director, I doubt you’ll like the idea of leaving her behind,” Mikey says. “So if we’re taking her, she may as well know why she’s leaving.”</p><p>“Alright. I’ll tell her when she wakes up.”</p><p>“You should ‘prolly get some rest, actually. I know you’re not gonna go home, but you could take a nap. Nobody’s gonna get her with both you and Bob right here. Brian’s making a plan for how to get to the part of the world-saving where we know what to do next.”</p><p>He sighs, and closes his eyes, nodding. “Okay. I’ll get some sleep. Brian will call when he figures out what he needs us to do, right?” Ray waits until Mikey nods in affirmation. “Okay. Then we’ll come back to the Academy when he asks.”</p><p>“Alright. See you later?”</p><p>“Night, Mikes.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>My apologies if you were ever under the impression that Gerard would not have to do the Klaus-goes-to-war thing, or that I would not use that as a perfect excuse to integrate the Ghost of You MV into this au.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Meet on Ember Bridge</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Gerard Way really scrapped Mike Milligram before the album was even out, produced all the Fabulous Killjoy content in the span of a couple years, told us all that he was moving on, let it sit dormant for like five years, lulled us into a false sense of security by letting Dark Horse release a hardcover edition of the comics, and then picked THE MIDDLE OF THIS FIC’S RELEASE as the perfect time to announce a new Killjoy comic series. Am I a little upset that I wrote this before I could incorporate the Unseen into this fic? Yes. Am I ever going to be satisfied now that I know I could have gotten canonical information on Mike Milligram? Nope. Am I going to buy the new comic despite all this? As soon as my local store posts the preorder info. October 14, 2020. All rise.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>TUESDAY 9:51</b>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>This morning is the first one where he wakes up naturally. He lies in his childhood bed - also a first - because the sun is shining down the alleyway and into his bedroom and it’s too bright to close his eyes and roll over. Mikey stares at the ceiling. For the first time in a very long while, someone else knows exactly what’s going on. The weight of responsibility is… Mikey wouldn’t go so far as to say the weight is gone, per se; the pressure is still on him to do what he can, to be the one to change the course of time. But he’s sharing part it with someone else. With family.</p><p>It feels surprisingly good.</p><p>He sits up in his bed and rolls his shoulders. Gerard is gone, though his side of the bed is semi-tucked in, so Mikey guesses that Gerard is already awake and moving. He gets dressed slowly and then meanders out into the hallway. The Academy is huge and empty at times like this. Probably most of the time, actually, now that he thinks about it. In his memories, it was lively because he was holding on to the memories where he was with the others, but the reality is that it’s a fucking mansion and there’s seven people living here.</p><p>He only runs into a sign of life when he glances into the living room. Which has books on every visible surface from tables to couches to the bar and the floor.</p><p>“The fuck happened here?” Mikey says, voice still groggy from sleep.</p><p>“Oh, hey Mikes. Brian figured out some stuff, explained some stuff,” Frank says, lowering a book. “I’m unfortunately on reading duty.”</p><p>“What?” Mikey asks. He looks down at the nearest book and notices that all the covers are exactly the same. A dark burgundy with fancy gold text reading <em> ‘RH’. </em> “Are these… Father’s?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Frank says simply. And then he fucking goes back to reading, as if he’s explained everything.</p><p>“Frank,” Mikey says, and he waits for Frank to look up. “Why?”</p><p>“That dude - the bald one - said he was one of us. Now, god knows I fucking hate our father - may he rot in hell - but if there’s anyone in the world who would have useful information on our pseudo-siblings and our spontaneous births, then it’s the son-of-a-cocksucker who wanted to collect them like trading cards.”</p><p>“Okay?”</p><p>“So Brian asked me to go through his journals and see what he knew.”</p><p>“Ah. Nice.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Frank sighs. Then he glances over at Mikey and sighs. “This is such a drag, though. Things are crazy right now, and I’m trying to do what I can to stop the end of the world of course. Or, stop the nuclear war. Whatever. But I want to go on the offensive here. I've got people I love outside of this fucking family, and even if I didn't, I'd want to go out and fuck up the bastards that broke into our home. For Gerard’s sake. Those motherfuckers, and they could come back at literally any time. I want them <em>dead."</em></p><p>Mikey glances at the door. “Me too. Gerard came to me after you dyed his hair, but he barely said a word. How is he?”</p><p>“Fuck if I know. Didn’t say much to me either. I’m pretty sure you know a hundred percent more about his situation than I do. Every time I tried to talk to him, he kept backing down. And Gerard never does that. Not even when he’s super pissed at me. I don’t understand how he’s clean, or what happened to him, or how it’s possible that he’s worse <em> now </em> than he was doped up.”</p><p>“Trauma,” Mikey says.</p><p>“Yeah, but how the fuck did this <em>happen?</em> What the fuck did they use to drop him in a World War II starring <em> us?” </em> Frank asks. “How is that even possible?”</p><p>Mikey frowns. “In the timeline that goes wrong, in the future, Korse steals our powers. Some of them.”</p><p>“Yeah. I was listening. They missed Bob’s super strength,” Frank notes. “Was Bob in your future?”</p><p>“No,” Mikey says simply, not wanting to start in on the topic of Brothers Who Didn’t Survive The Apocalypse. “But when they took our powers, they figured out a way to mix yours with mine. A device that sends someone to an alternate timeline. My time travel to specify a period, and your reality augmentation to make the scenario a living hell.”</p><p>“… <em> we </em> did this to Gee?”</p><p>Mikey swallows. “Our powers did.”</p><p>Frank stands up, steps forward and wraps his arms around Mikey’s form, pressing his face into Mikey’s shoulder. “This fucking sucks, dude.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mikey says.</p><p>And Frank hugs tight, in the way that Frank does, like he has to hold on to someone or he’d be punching something instead.</p><p>“I think he’ll be okay,” Mikey mutters, mindful of how close they are. “If we’re careful. If he lets us help him through it.”</p><p>“You didn’t hear him, man. All he wants is for us to stay safe,” Frank says. “And I plan to do my fucking best to make that happen.”</p><p>“We’ll take care of him,” Mikey says.</p><p>“Oh, he’s top priority,” Frank says, pulling away to hold Mikey’s shoulders. “But he’s gonna go off the deep end if we don’t all make it through this week, man. Juggling act. I’m doing my best.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“Yeah, no prob. Now, you gonna help me read these diaries or do I have to transcribe pop’s handwriting solo?"</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>A couple minutes later, Brian pops in. “Okay, good. Thanks for telling me he’s up, Frank. We need a family meeting as soon as possible.”</p><p>Mikey frowns curiously at Frank, wondering how he could’ve possibly talked to Brian.</p><p>“It’s called texting, Mikey,” Frank says, rolling his eyes.</p><p>“I’ve owned a phone before, since I was kinda busy at the end of the world. Sue me,” Mikey grumbles.</p><p>"Oh, it's fine," Frank says. "Actually it's kinda funny how you're a super genius or whatever and you can't wrap your head around instant messaging."</p><p>"Enough," Brian says before Mikey can get another word in. “I’ll call and ask Ray and Bob when Christa gets out of the hospital. Should be today, all the reports said it didn’t hit bone and didn’t damage too many muscles.”</p><p>“Records?” Frank asks. “How’d you get your hands on those?”</p><p>“Ray sent ‘em over,” Brian shrugs. “After he stole them.”</p><p>“Ah. Of course,” Frank deadpans.</p><p>“In any case, once they get here we need to have a family meeting, okay? Which involves dragging Gerard from the piano, I guess,” Brian says. He glances down at his phone screen and frowns. “I’m still— still looking up details and stuff, but— okay cool. They just discharged Christa. They’ll be here in 20, so family meeting in 25, okay?”</p><p>“Okay,” Frank says.</p><p>“Great. Keep reading until then,” Brian mumbles, turning away.</p><p>They’re quiet for a minute, and when Mikey turns back, Frank is still staring at the doorway. And Frank says, “I haven’t seen him this deep in the zone in forever.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Yeah. He’s always spacing out these days,” Frank sighs. “Maybe— well, okay obviously the apocalypse isn't optimal, but maybe he needed something to focus on.”</p><p>“He’s not a dog,” Mikey says.</p><p>“I’m not saying that, you little bitch,” Frank says. He kicks Mikey’s ankle for good measure. “It’s just, like. We all had problems figuring out what to do with ourselves once we left the Academy. I worry about him, sometimes, ‘cause it feels like he just tried to leave everything about the Academy behind him and start a new life.”</p><p>“You tried to do that too,” Mikey points out.</p><p>Frank goes very still, which is immediately noticeable because Frank literally moves constantly. “What do you know about that?” he asks quietly.</p><p>“Only rumors,” Mikey says. “Pun intended.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ,” Frank sighs. “I’d tell you, but it’s a long fucking story that involves all of my biggest regrets, and I really don’t wanna get into that right now. Raincheck on that one.”</p><p>“Alright,” Mikey says.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Family members trickle in slowly for the family meeting. First, it’s Gerard, whose hair is now bright red-orange, and who immediately seats himself right next to Mikey and slings an arm over his shoulder. Mikey doesn’t fail to notice how he’s put Mikey’s body between him and Frank. Worm comes in next, taking the couch across the large open space, probably because it's the only one big enough for him to fit on. Then, Bob and Ray come in, Ray pushing the wheelchair of Christa and Bob picking books up from the floor so that Christa won’t roll over them. They take the armchairs underneath the big creepy portrait of Mikey. And finally, Brian comes in to put down his laptop on the table between the couches, kneels down to read from it, and clears his throat.</p><p>“Hey. Hello. Family meeting,” Brian says. “So, the world’s ending. Time to address that part.”</p><p>Mikey blinks and puts his book down.</p><p>“Point of order, first. Christa, this is Mikey, our long-lost brother who’s not so lost anymore,” Brian says.</p><p>“Hi,” Christa says. “I’ve heard great things. Glad you’re back.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Mikey says, mildly confused about why Ray would tell a girlfriend great things about an absent sibling.</p><p>“Back to business,” Brian cuts in. “Biggest danger right now is the Better Living agents from the future. The ones that Christa, Ray, and Bob confronted in the motel yesterday. We have an estimated twelve at large, and sixteen in custody. An additional six are dead. Among those at large is Exterminator Korse, whom we temporarily detained two nights ago.”</p><p>“Wow,” Gerard mutters just low enough for only Mikey to hear. “That’s really recent for you guys.”</p><p>“Mikey’s told me that their resources are significantly limited due to the nature of their technology,” Brian says. “Mikey?”</p><p>Mikey blinks. “Uh, yeah. I don’t think they can go back and forth to the future. They’re not likely to send an army at us from 2020.”</p><p>“But we have time, at the very least. They’ve spent a good chunk of resources on sending two waves of reinforcements already. Which thankfully also means that they’re not likely to waste a time travel trip on regrouping. I’m guessing that they’re hiding out here and trying to figure out how to most effectively stop us, just as we’re doing the same for them,” Brian says. “Luckily, we’re a significant threat. Unfortunately, I think there’s a good chance they’ll stock up on weaponry and get some hired hands.“</p><p>“You think they’ll contact modern B.L.I.?” Mikey asks.</p><p>“No,” Brian shakes his head. “Everything they’re doing here is trying to stop us from changing the history they already experienced. I don’t think they’d risk drawing resources away from modern Better Living when it’s so close to sealing itself off from the world. Their company has time travel and legitimate scientists, so I’m assuming they’re smart enough that they would already know if they had to complete a causal loop, so… uh, no. I think they’re on their own.”</p><p>Mikey thinks that probably went over everyone’s heads except his.</p><p>“We have to be careful, though. Modern guns-for-hire means real bullets, not laser guns. We’re talking longer distance and much more damage. Laser guns were optimal in Mikey’s apocalypse because their ammo was infinite when batteries were accessible instead of bullet manufacturers, but the situation’s reversed in modern times. They tried hitting us here, and they tried fighting back in the motel. Between then, a few of them already switched to live bullets like the one Christa got hit with. Now that they're down by about twenty-five guns - the six we took from bodies after the break in and the sixteen that the police took as evidence - they don't have the arsenal to keep using lasers. Unfortunately, this means their weapons will blend in. With normal handguns, they'll attract much less attention. So, I propose we enforce a new rule,” Brian sighs. “No leaving the house alone.”</p><p>A lot of people speak all at once. In fact, Mikey and Gerard are practically the only ones who don’t. The outcry lasts about five seconds before most of the brothers sink into glaring at each other instead of talking.</p><p>And then Gerard tilts his head. “Wanna explain, Bri?”</p><p>Brian blinks, surprised at him, and nods. “We live in <em> Jersey </em>. It’s entirely too easy for someone to dress in civilian clothes, pass someone in the street, and shoot them. It’s not like Korse wouldn’t sacrifice one of his own to a lifetime in jail just to kill one of us. They're wiling to sacrifice their own to take one of us down, but we're not. We just can’t risk putting ourselves out in the open.”</p><p>“Let’s put it to a vote, then. All in favor?” Gerard asks.</p><p>Brian raises his hand at the same time as Gerard. Mikey does too. Worm’s palm is in the air as well. A perfect tie. And then after a half a second, Christa’s hand goes up.</p><p>“Motion passes by majority rule,” Gerard says, smirking a little bit.</p><p>“This is a good thing,” Brian promises. “There’s a lot we can do from here. I talked to Worm about looking through Father’s journals, hence the mess in here. Worm? Would you elaborate?”</p><p>“Sure,” Worm grunts. “Your father put a lot of research into you kids and your powers, but he always planned to gather more of those born on the same day. I wasn’t allowed to read his journals, but I was there when we were researching it, and I know that there’s at least one whole journal on his initial search. I’ve got no idea if he learned more in the years after, though. My job switched to bodyguard once you kids were in the house.”</p><p>Brian nods. “So I’ve asked Frank to start going through these books of Father’s because we know that Better Living has been utilizing powers to their advantage. If Father had any documentation on who the others like us were, he might know what their powers became and from there, we can track down the ones whose powers match the ones Korse took. And then we would know some of Better Living’s top officials.” Brian glances around at the books. “There’s a lot. Which is fantastic, because there’s a lot of you.”</p><p>“Are you giving us all reading homework?” Bob groans.</p><p>“What else were you gonna do? Go out and punch some bad guys to pass the time?”</p><p>“So it’s just reading and hacking until further notice? That's all we can do?” Ray asks with an incredulous tone.</p><p>“And math. Mikey needs to finish his equations for spatial travel with passengers, so he gets a pass on reading too,” Brian says. “We’ll be moving to California as soon as he has it worked out. At that point, we can avoid Korse and company by crossing the country. Even if he knows where we went, he'll need to take a plane. We buy time either way. So, everyone ready to settle in and crack open a book?”</p><p>“Actually, I think I need to take care of something first,” Frank says, standing up. “I’ll be back in a bit.”</p><p>“I <em> just </em> went over why leaving alone is a bad fucking idea, Frank,” Brian says.</p><p>“If the world’s ending, I'd like to talk to Jaima,” Frank says firmly.</p><p>The entire room goes very still, and even if Mikey hadn’t noticed that, he would <em> definitely </em> notice the way Gerard has stopped breathing.</p><p>“I’ll be fast. I’ll be back in, like, two hours,” Frank says. “I just need to talk to her.”</p><p>Gerard clears his throat. “You should take Mikey.”</p><p>The focus of the room palpably shifts to Gerard.</p><p>“What? He can carry one passenger already. He did it yesterday and recovered in minutes. If someone starts shooting, then Mikey can bring you back,” Gerard shrugs.</p><p>“You’ll be okay on your own?” Frank ventures carefully.</p><p>“You know, there <em> are </em>five people in the house other than you two.” Gerard says. His expression is unreadable, and his words are too. Mikey legitimately can’t tell if he means to be sharp or placating. For a second, he sees Party Poison instead of Gerard. “Like you said, it's just a couple hours.”</p><p>“Okay,” Frank sighs. “Come on, Mikes. Time to cash that raincheck.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Frank hails them a taxi and they climb in quietly. Frank tells the driver some shop name and they start heading towards Jersey City. Mikey waits all drive for Frank to start explaining, but he doesn’t speak until they get stuck in traffic.</p><p>“I have an ex-wife,” Frank says. “Her name is Jaima. I love her a lot.”</p><p>“But you’re not on speaking terms?” Mikey guesses.</p><p>Frank presses his eyes closed and smiles tightly. “I guess we’re technically not.”</p><p>They don’t talk any more for the rest of the drive. Eventually, Frank tells the driver they’re close enough, pays, and then ushers Mikey out into the street to walk down the block. They get out, and Brian’s warnings about the ease of ambushes creeps into Mikey’s head, but nobody assaults them out of nowhere. They just… walk down the street and into a coffee shop.</p><p>As they step inside, Mikey glances at the staff behind the counter trying to figure out who Jamia might be. But instead of stepping in line, Frank shoves his hands in his pockets and says, <em> “I heard a rumor that every patron here was busy checking their phones for the next five minutes.” </em></p><p>The line of people in front of them sort of shuffle, stepping to the side and pulling out their phones.</p><p>Mikey stares at Frank, confused why he would start a rumor for something so petty. Meanwhile, Frank walks them to the front counter and tells the cashier, <em> “I heard a rumor you told Jamia we needed to talk to her.” </em></p><p>The cashier turns and walks away from the register. With a vaguely disturbed feeling settling in his stomach, Mikey tugs on his brothers arm and begins, “Frank—“</p><p>“It’s okay,” Frank says. And then a woman comes out from the back of the shop, taller and with black hair and bangs, and Frank sighs beside Mikey.<em> “I heard a rumor you took your break now and met us out back.” </em></p><p>And she too turns and heads off to find her manager.</p><p>Frank stuffs his hands in his pockets. “C’mon, Mikes.”</p><p>They leave the store without ordering anything, and Frank takes them around the corner so they can head to an alleyway.</p><p>“I met Jamia back when I was first sneaking out. We knew each other forever. I told her everything. About the Academy, and Father, and what happened to our family when it started falling apart. Hers were rough too, that’s why she was in the punk scene with me. And that— You have to understand, our memories at the time were a tangled mess of young love and intense trauma. We were each other’s rocks at the worst times in our lives,” Frank says.</p><p>Mikey frowns. They turn the corner into the alleyway.</p><p>“I eventually got away from the Academy and did some growing up, but nobody ever forgot where I came from. I got famous playing for The Patience, and some motherfuckers took that as a big target on my back,” Frank sighs. “I could rumor away most of the people that came after me, but it was only a matter of time before a real threat came along.”</p><p>A door opens, and the woman - Jamia - appears in the alley, eyes clearing of the fog as she completes the rumor.</p><p>Frank walks towards her. <em> “I heard a rumor you remembered me.” </em></p><p>Her eyes go white, and then they widen, and she bends over like she’s been sucker-punched. Mikey watches her stay there for a moment, and he’s just about to open his mouth and ask when she looks up with tears and fury in her eyes and slaps Frank clear across the face. “You slimy bastard!'</p><p>“Jams—“</p><p>“You’re fucking late!”</p><p>“You don’t remember these!” Frank shouts back.</p><p>“I do, when you come back! And you’re <em> late!” </em>Jamia shouts, and then she grabs Frank’s shirt and drags him into a kiss.</p><p>Mikey averts his eyes.</p><p>“God, I fucking hate you. What the fuck, Frank? We had an arrangement.” Mikey takes this as a cue to look at them again. Jamia has Frank's face in her hands, glaring down at him as they stare each other down.</p><p>Frank sighs. “I wasn’t going to come back.”</p><p>Jamia doesn’t look surprised by this, but tears are pouring down her cheeks steadily. “Yeah. So what was so important that you changed your mind halfway through leaving me?”</p><p>“My missing brother came back. We think the world’s ending on Friday,” Frank says. “I mean that literally.”</p><p>“Yeah, <em> no shit </em> you mean it literally, you’re a fucking superhero,” she says, wiping at her face. “So this is— what, a last goodbye?”</p><p>“I hope not,” Frank says. “I hope we can fix it. I hope I can come back another day and see you again. But I wanted to talk to you. Just in case.”</p><p>“You know everything I have to say,” she sighs. “I say it every time.”</p><p>“I know,” he mutters dejectedly. “I love you.”</p><p>“I love you too. So much,” she says. “And if you even think of doubting it, I’m gonna bitch slap you again, okay?”</p><p>Frank cracks a smile. “You ready?”</p><p>“Send me back,” she says, but she reaches out to Frank’s face and brushes the hair from his eyes.</p><p>
  <em> “I heard a rumor you forgot you ever knew me.” </em>
</p><p>Her eyes go cloudy. Frank sighs and turns away, pulling Mikey away.</p><p>They walk down the street. Frank doesn’t look back, but he does start talking. “Once, I was up against someone who caught me and her at the same time. And I panicked. I’d sworn I’d never rumor her, but I was scared they’d torture her just to get information about me. So I rumored her into forgetting everything about me. It worked. They didn’t bother her. We got out, but when I rumored her memories back, she…”</p><p>Frank swallows</p><p>“She loves me. But her memories of what she went through… they’re so tied up in the memories of me, that they’re inseparable. She tried to lie to me, to make it work even when she was reeling from having those years of trauma dumped on her so suddenly. All the love in the world couldn’t change the fact that I have the power to undo years of abuse and mental damage. I can do what therapists and psychopharmacologists could never even dream of. Jamia is fundamentally happier in life when she doesn’t remember our shared childhood,” Frank says. “We argued for a long time, and this is what we came up with. I’m supposed to visit every few months. But some day she’ll find someone else and be happy without me, and I’ll stop reminding her of what she left.”Mikey feels his phone buzz in his pocket, and as he goes to pull it out, he catches Frank doing the same with his own. He opens it to find an SMS group message from Gerard to everyone in the family plus an unrecognized number (presumably Christa). It reads:</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>Gerard 2:07</b> <b><br/></b> <b>Family meeting in the kitchen ASAP. Ray found smth</b></p>
</blockquote><p>Mikey raises an eyebrow at the message, and looks to Frank. “Do you think ‘as soon as possible’ means Teleport, or Get A Cab Right Now?”</p><p>Frank looks back at him, and then a scheming grin takes over his face. “I think teleportation is cheaper.”</p><p>“You’re famous. You’re rich,” Mikey says.</p><p>“Don’t be a dick. And anyway, don’t you need to practice this teleport-with-passengers shit?”</p><p>“Oh my god,” Mikey groans, and he sets a hand on Frank’s shoulder and jumps.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>His headache is surprisingly lighter than his first attempt, but it still sends him reeling and staggering to his knees.</p><p>“Oh wow, you actually did it,” Frank says, surprised.</p><p>Mikey presses his lips together and fights off the urge to puke from nausea or collapse under the pain of his throbbing head. It feels like dehydration quintupled, but he can already feel it beginning to dull, which is a marked improvement from when he jumped with Gerard.</p><p>“You okay?” Frank whispers, suddenly kneeling down to him.</p><p>“Ugh, yeah,” Mikey says.</p><p>“You sure?”</p><p>“Mhm,” Mikey nods. He’s surprised how true it is, but he sticks out his hand and lets Frank help him up. They’re in the staircase landing, only a few feet from the kitchen, so when Mikey gestures towards the kitchen, Frank nods and they head in that direction.</p><p>They hear voices before they enter. “—made me wonder why not <em>him</em>, so we skimmed a few until— oh, they’re back,” Ray says upon seeing them walking through the doorway.</p><p>“Hey,” Mikey says.</p><p>“How’d it go?” Christa asks.</p><p>“Fine. As well as it can,” Frank shrugs.</p><p>“Take a seat,” Bob says, pulling out a chair for Mikey as Frank pulls one out for himself.</p><p>“Go ahead. Keep going, Ray,” Frank says.</p><p>Ray nods. “I was explaining why I started looking for Father’s journal on Brian. If we’re talking about powers, he’s the anomaly because he doesn't <em>have</em> powers, right? So I started reading, and it turns out things are really fucking weird. Father has all these notes about Brian having destructive powers and needing to build a robotic nanny just to prevent medical bills from the ones Brian supposedly hurt. Which is— absurd, right? I’m not the only one who thinks this reads like a bad Umbrella Academy fanfiction?”</p><p>“I don’t—“ Brian presses his lips together. “I don’t have powers. I'm normal.”</p><p>“Right, but Father’s writing here is fucking detailed,” Ray exclaims. “It talks about training and exercises for you. I could read some. Here:</p><p>
  <strong>"'While not directly related to the extent of Seven’s current powers, telekinesis may very well be a topic worth exploring for future developments. His control over resonance from a distance is evidently crucial to the science of the matter, but telekinesis may very well be a control of the direction in which atmospheric atoms vibrate.'</strong>
</p><p>"Guys, this isn’t forged,” Ray says. “We have to take it seriously.”</p><p>Worm sighs heavily. “Maybe you should just… read on to the end of the experimental notes.”</p><p>Mikey turns curiously to Worm, as do most of the others, but Worm has a frown set on his face as he stares Ray down.</p><p>“Skip ahead, then,” Gerard says.</p><p>Ray stares at Worm for another moment, but eventually he nods and skims through the pages. “Okay. Session data collection… synthesis, okay. <strong>'</strong><strong>Seven’s training is a matter of focus for learning the resonance of the world. The power he exhibits thus far appears to be unlimited, uncontrollable, and dangerous. It is for the greater good that his abilities should remain a secret. Methods of limiting his power—'</strong> and he wrote out a bullet list here. <strong>'Mood altering medication to keep him sedated. Suppress acoustics for independent variables that cannot be supervised. And—'</strong>"</p><p>“…Ray?” Bob prompts.</p><p>Ray looks up, then back down at the book. "<strong>'Erase awareness. Number Three.'</strong>"</p><p>All eyes dart over towards Frank, who goes pale. “Oh my fucking god.”</p><p>“Frank?” Ray asks.</p><p>Frank turns with wide eyes to Brian. “He said— he told us you were sick. That you were so sick, that you needed my help, that—“</p><p>“You rumored me?” Brian asks.</p><p>“Frank,” Mikey mutters.</p><p>“Don’t— I didn’t know that that was what I was doing,” Frank says desperately.</p><p>“Oh, so you didn’t say, ‘I heard a rumor’? You didn’t know what you were doing?” Bob shouts, shoving his seat back as he stands up.</p><p>“Of course I knew I was <em> rumoring </em> him,” Frank says. “That’s not what I’m saying—“</p><p>“What <em> are </em> you saying, Frank?” Bob spits.</p><p>“Hey,” Brian barks, standing up too. All eyes go on him and he takes a deep breath. “Frank, do you remember the exact phrasing of what you said?”</p><p>“I said, ‘I heard…’,” Frank hums, cutting himself off. He takes a breath. “… ‘that you think you’re just ordinary’.”</p><p>“That sounds pretty amnesia-inducing to me,” Bob growls.</p><p>“That’s not what I <em> thought </em>it would mean,” Frank says. “I thought it would— don’t you guys remember? He got sick. So sick that Elena and Worm had to keep him away from us. Or— that’s what they told us. Father said he was dying, that none of the medicine was working. He said that Brian might live if he had the placebo effect, if he believed he was a healthy, ordinary kid.”</p><p>The room goes silent.</p><p>Frank turns to Brian with a pleading look. “I didn’t know— I didn’t, I swear. We were so young. I thought I was helping, and then you got better - he <em> said </em> you got better - and I forgot all about it.”</p><p>Brian stares at the table for a long while. Then, he looks up at Frank and says, “I’m not mad. It’s okay.”</p><p>Frank’s shoulders sag in relief.</p><p>“Worm?” Brian prompts.</p><p>“Your Father thought it would be best,” Worm sighs. “Your powers accidentally killed a few nannies when you were a toddler. He started taking it seriously when your powers became violent even in his controlled settings.”</p><p>Brian squints at the table.</p><p>“I am sorry I didn’t tell you.”</p><p>“You were a slave to him more than any of us,” Brian says dully. “There was nothing you could have done, short of killing him and sending us all into the foster system, and even then, you would have had nowhere to go in the world. I get it.”</p><p>Mikey wonders where the fuck that sentiment comes from. Nobody says that sort of shit unless they’d thought it out before.</p><p>“I should read the data on myself,” Brian says. “Father said he couldn’t tame me, but he couldn’t tame Otter either. I should know what made me different. Why he didn’t…”</p><p>“And then what?” Ray asks, but he’s already complying, sliding the journal over. “What do you want to do with this?”</p><p>Brian glances around, catching on Mikey a bit longer than anyone else. “I think it’s a little too late to cause a fuss over this. If we need to work together to stop Better Living Industries, now isn't the time to add a new task to the list. Especially a task that even Father couldn’t figure out how to address.”</p><p>Across the table, Bob blinks confused. “But if your medication is suppressing—“</p><p>“I’ve lived like this for as long as I can remember,” Brian cuts in. “I’ll survive.”</p><p>And that’s that on that.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>There is a vault in their basement. Their secret basement, that Worm decides is now okay to show them all. They go down to confirm, but it’s really is there. A big prison where Father sealed Brian away.</p><p>Mikey goes in to check it out, but he’s the only one. Everyone else seems scared to be trapped, so they look in from the doorway. Mikey supposes they have good reason. He can get out of any prison as long as he isn’t tied down, but a wall of iron this thick would seal anyone else in. Not even Bob could punch his way through twelve inches of solid metal.</p><p>It’s all sound-proofed too, so the inside is freakishly quiet. It would probably be quieter with a closed door, but as is, the worried mutters from his brothers is all that’s keeping him sane and he’s grateful for it. But he thinks about how it would be with that door closed, plunged into silence and sterile lights and bland black walls. This was built for Brian. To imprison him in solitary confinement.</p><p>He wonders what would have happened if Frank hadn’t rumored Brian. Maybe Father would have just kept him down here forever. He can’t remember a time when Brian wasn’t the ordinary one, so maybe he would have forgotten Brian entirely. They were young enough, probably. Kids accept what they’re told. They don’t know enough to question why. Mikey thinks of what that kind of complete isolation would do to a young child, and he wants to throw up. No matter how chilling it is to think about forgetting your own family, imagining a child locked away, alone for years upon years is... fuck.</p><p>His family is so fucked up, but as it stands, they are a distraction. This is a distraction. There is a doomsday clock ticking down to 1800 PST Friday, June 13th, and nothing that happened decades ago can change that.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Worm asks when Mikey teleports out of the vault.</p><p>“I need to get to work,” Mikey says.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fr tho im not making Brian deal with the whole vanya arc. Like, no. I love that girl, but all her life mistakes hinged on acts of unjustified revenge and I think Brian’s more big-picture than that. <strike>Not to mention he has nobody to manipulate him off his meds, oops</strike></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Half Deity Fucked</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A week’s enough time to start talking about TUA S2 right?? Right? Right. Well anyway I'm so glad I shifted the narrative so I'm not responsible for including or covering any 60s bullshit.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>WEDNESDAY 7:15<br/>
<br/>
</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could you pass me the butter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Frank. Oh, I don’t need syrup.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey had been eating and making mathematical notation on scratch paper, but it catches his attention when the entire table goes silent. He looks up and traces everybody’s gazes to Ray, who’s holding a butter knife and frowning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Ray asks defensively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re gonna have butter-and-no-syrup pancakes?” Frank asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that a crime?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ray, what the fuck, that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally </span>
  </em>
  <span>the worst thing,” Frank says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard nods. “Yeah, I mean. I lived in the trenches of World War II for almost a year and even I think that’s more disgusting than anything they made me eat. Mikey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>objectively worse than the expired dog food we ate in the apocalypse,” Mikey nods, going back to his math.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw c’mon. It’s not fair that you two can make jokes about that. I’m a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hundred </span>
  </em>
  <span>percent sure that food from the nuclear holocaust and literal Holocaust was worse,” Ray whines. “Besides, food from other time periods and timelines shouldn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>count</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I lived on astronaut food for, like, four years straight,” Bob says. “The astronaut food Father sent me was essentially nutrients ground up into dust. And I added water to make a smoothie that I could drink.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone turns to look at him. Even Mikey raises his eyes from the math he's absently jotting down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob smiles. “Butter-only-pancakes are </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>worse than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unbelievable,” Ray mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s pretty gross,” Christa says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re— it’s healthy! It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>much healthier. I don’t need an ocean of sugar to put carbs down my throat!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s sad,” Worm says, shaking his head. “He’s missing out on so much in life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a freak of nature,” Gerard says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re all— we’re literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>freaks of nature!“ Ray exclaims</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob tuts gently. “It’s not polite to call your fianceé a freak of nature.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Talk to a girl </span>
  <em>
    <span>one time</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I’ll start considering your advice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span><em>“Oooooh,”</em> Frank exclaims, covering his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray rolls his eyes. “God. Let’s stop. Brian, don’t you have something to say about the plan to end the world yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do,” Brian says. “But it was more fun to listen to your fucking awful choice in breakfast toppings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey hides a smile with a drink of water while the whole table laughs at Ray.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s right though,” Brian says. “Not about pancakes. About the plan. Gerard and I have been talking about where to go from here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, what is the plan?” Bob asks. “We can’t just sit around reading until the apocalypse comes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, we can’t,” Brian agrees. “But we can’t bring the fight to Better Living until we get to California, which is something that’s more up to Mikey than any of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I spent last night working on the calculations for my teleportation with cargo,” Mikey says. He picks up his scratch paper to wave it briefly before he smooths it out on the table and goes back to writing on it. “The cargo being all of you, and the destination being California. I’m not there yet, but I’ll keep at it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So that’s Mikey checked off,” Brian says. “Next, we want an exact location. Mikey says the blast damage from the bombs buried too much in sand to make it clear what the original landscape was. We know Battery City will spring up in LA, but exactly where remains to be seen. Bob, I want you and Worm with me. We’re gonna doxx as many B.L.I. employees as we can and see if we can find anyone with a listed location.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck yeah,” Bob nods. Worm gives a big thumbs-up too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We still need to get through Father’s journals,” Brian says. “Anything could be written in there. He could know who Korse is, or who else is working for Better Living, or who-knows-what-else. And for as long as we’re stuck inside, there may as well be some people going through it. Christa, Ray, and Frank, is that okay with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would I have any complaints about reading for two days straight?” Frank deadpans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great! Then we’re all set."</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mikey gets lost in the math.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One could think of math like a train track, where every segment of railing is a math concept that you’ve learned. When you’re conducting a train, you can switch tracks to utilize different forms of math, like switching from trigonometry to algebra when you need to simplify something, or switching from algebra to calculus for a derivative, but the important part is that the track has to </span>
  <em>
    <span>exist </span>
  </em>
  <span>for the train to get to a destination.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except Mikey’s at a point where his train is literally going off the tracks and barreling through the wilderness before it lands at a destination by pure fucking force. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he can figure out the math behind it and lay out the tracks under his train (tracks which, mind you, don’t fucking exist yet, because teleportation is beyond modern human physics and mathematics), then it would be a much smoother and fuel-efficient ride. The train would probably arrive with a lot less scratches on it, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he’d gone to the library, he was trying to start building the tracks where the other tracks left off. It wasn’t working, because building into the wilderness is fucking absurd. This time, though, Mikey’s starting from the destination and working backwards. He has experience this time. He’s actually forced the train off the tracks, and he’s done it twice. He’s no longer venturing out to find a needle in a haystack; he’s lost in the middle of nowhere, trying to connect to something familiar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he writes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And writes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And </span>
  <em>
    <span>writes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He barely even notices Worm stepping in to ask if he wants anything for lunch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s too much track to lay to bother with that.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How’s it coming?” Brian asks from the doorway. At a glance, Mikey sees him with Gerard wandering into the classroom and looking at his work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey grits his teeth and lifts his entire forearm to the whiteboard, swiping away all the dry-erase markings with the sleeve of his jacket. “Not great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the matter?” Gerard asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m trying to pick out which variables affect it,” Mikey sighs, gesturing at the board.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Variables?” Brian says. “Wouldn’t you know? I thought you could feel what happens when you teleport, and you’ve teleported with company twice now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh shit, never thought of that. You cracked the case,” Mikey deadpans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brian raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>know how to put the memory of a second-long sensation into a math equation, I’d love to hear it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just trying to help, Christ,” Brian sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I think Brian has a point, Mikey,” Gerard says. He moves to the front row and sits down on one of the desks. “What does it feel like? What’s different when you have a passenger?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like…” Mikey pauses, trying to put words to it. “Like I’m a car and the person I bring gives me a flat tire. If I’m making a wormhole and jumping through it, then the passenger is dragging on the edges as I pull them through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like they don’t fit?” Brian guesses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More like friction,” Mikey says, then he blinks, turning back to his equations. “Huh. Friction…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Glad to help,” Brian says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We had questions for you,” Gerard says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah,” Brian mutters. “We wanna read you a few names. Bob and I got a hold of some files from people we think might be worth looking in to, but if you know any of them…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Shoot,” Mikey says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Sierra Hahn. Dan Jackson. Joëlle Jones. Neil Krug—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Neil Krug leaves B.L.I. later. His case was the textbook for identifying traitors from the inside. Unfortunately, he didn’t know shit. Even in the future, the things he knew barely helped us sabotage anything worthwhile,” Mikey says. “He’s a shield-tech supervisor, by the way. Nobody wants to sabotage the thing keeping everyone alive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Duly noted,” Brian hums. “We’ll look into it, though. Claire Vogel. Jason Fijal. And the last one is Ryan Upton.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey steps back. “You found <em>Ryan Upton?”</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s important?” Brian guesses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s one of the top officials. Maybe the highest one whose name isn’t completely classified,” Mikey says. “How the fuck did you stumble on files for him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His name was the one making transactions,” Brian shrugs. “I guess they weren’t careful enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Their loss. If you can figure out his security information, you’ll have access to practically every piece of data filed online,” Mikey says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I have work to do then. Bob and I will focus on him. Oh, and Gerard’s gonna stay with you for a bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are we, his babysitters?” Mikey asks, raising an eyebrow in Gerard’s direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Adult supervision required,” Gerard says simply. “You’re an adult, despite all physical indications.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks. I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have fun,” Brian says before leaving.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>After the first few minutes of being left to himself, Mikey finally settles in and accepts that Gerard is going to stay in the room quietly. The rhythm of math takes back over, going step by step, column by column as he tries out examples and inevitably erases the whole thing when it becomes clear that the current equation’s structure isn’t going to work out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t quite forget that Gerard is there, but it’s a near thing. He expects Gerard to quietly get up and leave soon. When he gets bored.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he doesn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And eventually, when his latest one reaches a step that’s so ugly he couldn’t simplify it with all the notations in the world, he drops the pen and walks over to sit in the desk next to Gerard’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard looks up at him from where he had been reading his phone screen, and then he scans over the board. “Gross,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Mikey says. “I need to leave it be for a minute while I think about what I could be missing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Smart plan,” Gerard nods approvingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey leans back in the desk’s chair. It’s mildly uncomfortable — all hard plastic and too small, and even though his body is only sixteen, his knees hit the desk’s bottom when he puts his legs under it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you keep going off alone?” Gerard asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey looks uncertainly at the board. “Uh…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I know nobody can keep up with that,” Gerard dismisses. “I mean in </span>
  <em>
    <span>general</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You could be working on it in another room. You could have company. You don't have to be alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Company is distracting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your focus isn’t that fragile. So what’s the real reason?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because it’s fine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it? Or is that what you told yourself when we weren’t around?” Gerard presses. There’s a long silence, and eventually Gerard sighs. “I’m just asking because you and I seem to be having completely opposite reactions to that. You got so used to being alone that you’re now convinced that you like it that way, and I missed you and Brian so much that I’m not letting you out of my sight for the next decade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you wanna talk about it?” Mikey asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a long story, I guess,” Gerard shrugs. The intensity and confidence of his speech seeps out of his words, like his whole mood has been derailed. “Lots of death and depressing shit. Mostly trying to make up for lost time. But it’s just… weird to be like this again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Like this’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the right time, with people who have the right memories.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey nods. “It is weird. And hard to tell if the other timeline still counts or not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Right?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gerard says emphatically. “Like, was all of that just a lie? Because it was pretty fucking real in the moment, and I had to live in it. I had to </span>
  <em>
    <span>live </span>
  </em>
  <span>in that reality for a long fucking time. And it’s so goddamn weird to be back. Good, though. I would have given anything to get you and Brian back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The more he thinks about it, the more horrified he is that Gerard had to go through anything remotely resembling Mikey’s time in the apocalypse. Sure, Gerard’s wasn’t strictly historical, and it was only a year, and he only lost two brothers, but that kind of shit haunts you. Mikey never wanted any of his siblings to feel the loss that comes with time travel, but B.L.I. has done this to Gerard with technology Mikey himself technically invented. Or, technology he inspired, maybe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I hate myself for this - I really fucking do - but I miss it,” Gerard whispers. “Parts of it. If you told me I could go back, I’d never actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>do it</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a million years, but…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowns, looking up at Gerard. “What could possibly make World War II worth it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard smiles a little hysterically. “You’re gonna think I’m a fucking creep, but in that world, you were my only brother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he stalls out, wondering what the fuck that means when—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Mikey says, out loud this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard twists his lips into a frown and turns his head away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, no,” Mikey says in an awkward rush. “You— you do remember that I grew up with you telling me everything? I knew. I always knew.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t make it okay,” Gerard whispers. “I robbed him of a brother and a best friend when I changed things. It wasn’t fair of me. And, like, so what if we all agree that ‘brother’ is an inaccurate word to begin with when we were raised as classmates and soldiers? We were family all the same. You choose your family, and we chose that, and I changed things when I made a move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You made a move?” Mikey asks, surprised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Gerard says. “Yeah. I guess that was after you left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“… yeah?” He’s pretty sure he would remember that if it was before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. We hooked up, and when we broke up, he got with Jamia to get back at me. And then he, like, fell in love and decided we were going to act like it never happened. And then— I dunno man. Shit got said. A lot happened and all of it indicated that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> fucked everything up between us, including the family part. It was just… easier. In the trenches. <em>That</em> Frank didn’t have our history, and he didn’t hate me for fucking things up. And he didn’t care that I was a mess, he just wanted me safe. And I think he even loved me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The real Frank loves you,” Mikey says gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard sniffles and smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “The real Frank told me not to show up to his wedding because he said that <em>all I am to him is a family obligation.</em> He wants nothing to do with me.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Around five, Mikey and Gerard realize entirely by accident that they both missed lunch, and after they grab food from the kitchen, Gerard declares that he’s headed to check in on Bob and Brian. And, because he may as well clear his head while he eats his turkey sandwich, Mikey decides to check in on the readers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knocks on the door to Father’s bedroom, where Ray and Christa have taken up residence, and finds the three of them huddled on the far side of the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh… hey,” Mikey says awkwardly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray looks over his shoulder and waves for Mikey to come closer. “You’ve gotta see this, man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey teleports across the room to be in front of the three of them, where Christa is holding one of Father’s journals open for Ray and Frank. “What am I looking at?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Christa found it,” Frank says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christa smiles, closes the book, and holds it out for Mikey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey’s brows draw together in curiosity, but he takes what he is offered and turns the book over in his hands. Flipping it to the first page, he sees, written in the center:</span>
</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>On the first day of October, 1980, a number of women around the world simultaneously gave birth. None of the women showed any prior signs of pregnancy. The collection, surveillance, and guidance of these children is of the utmost importance in regards to the fate of the world.</b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Woah,” Mikey mutters. He flips forward, finding that the first twenty-or-so pages have maps of various countries affixed into the page with notations in the margins. Every few pages, there will be a few paragraphs on how he’s put out adverts and rewards for the children, trying to widen his search. He flips forward until he finds a page of pure text.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>Number One</b>
    <b><br/>
</b>
    <b>Glasgow, Scotland</b>
    <b><br/>
</b>
    <b>The first child to be sold to me is the product of my global announcement. The mother, one Ava Bryar, was a single divorced woman who had no interest in raising a child. She contacted me within two hours of hearing my advertisement on her radio. It goes without saying that the child is now in my custody. The woman was given the advertised compensation, and I expect I will never hear more on the matter.</b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another couple of pages later, and:</span>
</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>Number Two</b>
    <b><br/>
</b>
    <b>Léon, Spain</b>
    <b><br/>
</b>
    <b>The second child became known to me via phone call, where one Manuel Toro called and explained (in poor English made worse by barely-restrained anger) that his wife had produced a child unwanted by their pre-existing family of five. After a brief discussion, it became clear that Mr. Toro was more than content to allow some other fellow to take the child off his hands. When I arrived at the residence, the mother seemed much more reluctant, but when her husband said the word, Mrs. Carmen Toro handed the child over. The compensation was, again, requested and granted.</b>
    <b></b>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s another for Frank’s, a woman named Valentina Iero from Rimini, Italy, who was similarly urged to give Number Three up by her own mother. Someone apparently called Father from a hospital in New York City to inform him of Donna Way and her spontaneous twins. Father goes on for some time about how exciting it was that one mother could yield two children through these means. Rumors and newspapers brought him to Lourdoueix-Saint-Michel, where he found a woman named Lilou Pelissier, a farm woman who needed significant financial compensation before she was willing to part with Number Six. And then, lastly, he found Number Seven from a woman from Roubaix, Belgium whose teenage daughter (Mila Schechter) had given birth in the middle of a swimming pool.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And after that, there’s at least three-fourths of the book left, filled with maps, newspaper clippings, theories, documented discussions with people from around the globe about children who Father couldn’t get his hands on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” Mikey mutters. “This is it. This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were just looking over the last parts,” Frank says, pointing vaguely at the book. “There’s a lot of it about looking through less western countries. You know. Because he forgot about those at first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Father really fucked up focusing on European countries early on,” Mikey mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s racism for you,” Ray shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And thank god, I guess,” Mikey nods. “The fewer kids that Father had in his custody, the better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should list out all the names and locations,” Christa says. “And then— well, it’s not strictly legal to stalk someone via their parentage, but if we can doxx their families from what your father wrote in here, we’ll find the children.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll leave you to it,” Mikey says, teleporting back to his classroom. Back to the equation.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>He fucking hates this thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, he gets somewhere. The example he’s working with starts simplifying in pleasing ways, somewhat resembling his planned theorem’s format after being sent through the wringer. He smiles, relieved. Fucking finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He steps back and feels excitement pulse in him, and then he shuffles to the free space on the board and starts another example, trying with larger inputs. And this time, unlike all his previous failed attempts, the step-by-step process doesn’t devolve into absurd or impossible numbers. The output looks like it's still fucked by a significant margin, but not an astronomical one. It’s exciting to have a breakthrough like this after hours and hours of ongoing work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s just about to start on a third example when he hears the gunshots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hears the windows get smashed from all the way upstairs. He hears it and jumps before he even turns around, landing in the living room and ducking for cover when he sees the people wielding guns. They shoot, and he can hear their boots thudding forward so Mikey jumps behind their lines and pries a gun from one of them and fires at their backs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A good number fall to the ground, but the man who he’d stolen from grips at his hair and yanks, forcing Mikey to follow with a gasp of pain. He just barely manages to wedge the gun between their bodies and fire into his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the gunfire doesn’t stop. He can hear a cacophony of them, and they seem to be coming from multiple sides of the house. Mikey’s eyes widen. He drops the gun and picks up another - hopefully with more bullets than his previous one - and begins jumping across the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Empty kitchen, empty courtyard - but broken glass scattered around both - empty entryway, and then he teleports to a hallway and finally sees some action. He finds Ray crashing through the hallway from the red staircase, holding Korse by the lapels and shoving him against the nearest walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ray, clear!” Mikey barks, raising his gun and taking aim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray barely takes a second to look back and agree, pulling Korse in and pushing him into the wall once more to separate them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he’s away, Mikey pulls the trigger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Headshot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Korse drops like a puppet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck yeah,” Mikey sighs in relief. That's the sort of undignified, anticlimactic, embarrasingly-simple death that Korse deserves. “Where’re the others?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bob came in and took Christa for me,” Ray says, grabbing Mikey’s sleeve and pulling him down the hall. “Frank rumored the goons to drop the guns, but they got on him fast. I was distracting Korse and—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mikey!” Gerard’s voice yells from upstairs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Mikey!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray meets Mikey’s eye and lets go of his jacket. “Go. I’ll find the others!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey nods and jumps out of the room, landing in between floors on the main staircase. He glances up at the second floor, trying to listen, and pinpoints footsteps thudding closer from above. He teleports up to the upper level and sees Gerard running down the hall towards him. “Mikey!” Gerard shouts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gee, what—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Gerard tackles him to the ground. “I’ve got you,” Gerard says. “Mikey, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mikey </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’ve got you, you’re okay—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gerard, what happened?” Mikey asks, and he tries to prop himself up on his elbow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s hand slams his shoulders down, though, holding him to the ground. “Stay down, Mikes. Stay in cover. We’ll be alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as he’s completely fucking confused by that, he hears gunfire pick up again downstairs, making Gerard flinch and press down tighter. Mikey squirms a bit under Gerard, grunting with effort. “Gee, get off! I need to kill those guys!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Mikey,” Gerard says.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is such a bad time for Gerard to have a fucking war flashback.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mikey reaches up and pushes at Gerard’s weight, trying to get him to budge, or at least get off. He stops when the gunfire lands much closer, colliding with the wood railing and sending debris pelting against Mikey’s side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay down,” Gerard grits out. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have to fucking fight!” Mikey snaps, and he grabs at Gerard’s arm and teleports them both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they jump, he flips their position and places them in the air next to the paintings, just a few feet from where they were, but three feet higher and behind the cover of the bench. Gerard lands on the ground and jolts enough from impact for Mikey to get away, and he stands up and teleports back to the foyer’s floor to fight the crows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shoots two down before taking cover behind a pillar. The others shoot at him immediately, bullets getting buried in the wood. One of them shouts and there's more fire, but none of it hits near Mikey, so he guesses that they’ve found another brother to shoot at. The thought sends Mikey into motion. In perhaps an idiotic move, he steps out of cover, shoots blindly at them, and runs for cover behind an armchair in the living room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It works, though. They follow, all three. Mikey can hear their footsteps separate as they fan out to flank him, but Mikey teleports to the catwalk above; from there it’s easy to pick them off before they figure out where the bullets are coming from.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, he pants heavily. The nausea of teleportation had been delayed by adrenaline, but not prevented. Mikey leans his weight against the railing and focuses on the physical sensation of it pressed against his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spends… maybe a minute or two there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Breathing and pushing away the headache, he wonders why the side effects are so bad this time. He thinks it might be especially bad because of the way Gerard was essentially struggling the whole way, that’s the best explanation he has. He really doesn’t want to consider the notion that teleporting with passengers becomes exponentially more draining when done repeatedly in a day. So, he doesn’t. He breathes and lets it pass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But soon enough, he’s wondering if the house is even really safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He methodically teleports to the rooms he remembers people being in. The attic (even though he’d seen Gerard since), the surveillance room (which Brian and Worm are absent from), the main kitchen (still empty), Father’s—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey staggers between his jumps. Christa is on the floor of Father’s bedroom, her wheelchair a few feet behind her, kneeling over—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Phoenix Witch,” Mikey mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bob is sitting on Father’s bed, head in his hands, turned away from the entire scene.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ray’s shot.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Right below the collarbone. He lays in a large pool of blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Christa—“ Mikey starts, but he doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t even look up. “I’ll— I’ll go get—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s dead,” she whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I can— Gerard!” Mikey shouts, running through the open door to the main foyer. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Gerard! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ge—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he notices a hand poking through the bottom of the railing across the gap. He teleports there instantly, kneeling down, and jerks backwards just as quickly. Gerard’s eye’s stare at the ceiling, face oddly neutral despite the bullet wound in his cheek. There’s an exit wound on the other side of his head, noticeable by the patch of orange hair which has darkened into deep maroon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A headshot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s brains have been blown out and are currently splattered across Elena’s paintings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck— fuck, fuck,” Mikey whispers. He scrambles backwards, away. Splinters of debris dig into his palms and he doesn’t even feel it. He can’t stand the thought of this </span>
  <em>
    <span>body</span>
  </em>
  <span> being Gerard, but his mind heeds no warnings and kicks into overdrive, considering how the physical destruction of the human brain is the complete obliteration of a person and how that means </span>
  <em>
    <span>forever</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “No, Gee—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mikey,” Brian’s voice says. “I need your help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey turns around, craning his head to where Brian stands back by the staircase. Worm is beside him, holding Frank up with one arm. Frank looks dwarfed by Worm’s massive frame, and Mikey only barely notices that Frank is pushing down on his own stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brian nods to Worm. “Take him to the infirmary. I’ll get Mikey and Bob.” As soon as Worm moves away, Brian steps forward to Mikey with a </span>
  <span>blank</span>
  <span> calm face. “I already checked. He’s gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Mikey says. “No— he can come back. He knows Phoenix Witch— he- he can come back!  He brought Jet and Kobra back! He brought </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> back!“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He can’t make deals with death when he himself is indebted,” Brian says, and he sounds so fucking soulless that Mikey refuses to believe a single word he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re fucking wrong. He can talk to her. He can—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think about it, Mikes. He’s only ever bargained for other people’s lives.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey shakes his head. “He’ll come back. He has to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to calm down,” Brian says. “We need to perform surgery. Frank got shot. He’s bleeding out. If we don’t help him—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t the right timeline,” Mikey says. “Gee can’t die. He can’t. He has to be Party, and if he’s not Party th—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Brian starts talking over him. “There’s nothing we can do about—“</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And Ray— and—“</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“— that right now. We have—“</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“— if they’re not there, the time loop—”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“— to hope that we still have a chance to—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey stumbles to his feet. “I’m gonna fix this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mikey—!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey teleports away to his own bedroom. He yanks open the closet door and reaches up to the shelf above the clothes rack. He has spare blankets up there, but under the pile is where he stashed the briefcase.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The one Gerard took from Korse’s 'crow squad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drags it out and slams it on his desk. Mikey fumbles for the drawers and fishes around past the pencils and scissors and sunglasses until he find</span>
  <span>s the tiny eyeglass screwdriver that he kept for his glasses as a kid. With it in hand, he leans in to focus on the briefcase’s lock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The standard lock, meant for specifying the destination. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Currently set to somewhere in… uh, Europe,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mikey thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>1944. Which makes sense; that’s where/when they were sending Gerard.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But Mikey’s fairly sure that this is just a modified briefcase — that the only thing separating this briefcase from a standard Better Living Industries time travel briefcase is the tiny clamps attached to the latches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he lifts his tiny screwdriver and starts prying those off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s hard to do. They’re tiny and clamped on tight to the shiny latches which hold the case closed. Maybe it doesn’t help that his hands haven’t stopped shaking since he saw Ray’s body, but he holds the tool in a tight grip and sets his wrist against the desk edge to steady it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One pops off. And then, a minute or two later, the other follows suit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey fiddles with the lock combination until it’s calibrated to send him to this morning, in the same general location. If he’s wrong about the modifiers, he’s leaving Frank to bleed out so that he can be trapped in a fake world, and even if someone gets him out before the bombs go off he’ll be stuck in a timeline completely unprepared to combat B.L.I.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But even the thought of letting Gerard—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey opens the case and is pulled through time itself.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I’m realizing that this entire fic is just kinda. Y’know the spiderman pointing-at-yourself meme? That’s Mikey and Gerard, pointing at each other and saying “no I thought YOU were dead!”</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Half Deity Indecisive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Y’all ready for Mikey to stop being a moody lil bitch yet? Cause I think that time has come and gone. Facing your burdens alone is OUT. Communication and asking for help are IN.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>WEDNESDAY 7:15</b> <b><br/></b> <b>(again)</b></p><p><br/>There’s a flash of blue with a loud <em> fwwshhp! </em></p><p>Mikey falls back into his seat, clutching at the briefcase.</p><p>He’s shaking, still. The panic of finding his dead brothers has yet to subside, and he’s hoping so much that he hasn’t fucked this whole world—</p><p>He looks up.</p><p>… And he’s sitting in the basement kitchen, in his chair, with his brothers staring at him, slack-jawed and confused.</p><p>Including—</p><p>They’re all here. Ray and Gerard are alive. Frank is fine.</p><p>He lets out a long, trembling breath, closing his eyes and leaning forward over the briefcase until his forehead rests against the edge of the table. He fixed it. Wednesday hasn’t happened yet. Nobody’s dead yet.</p><p>“Mikey, why do you have that briefcase?” Gerard asks sharply. If Mikey was more cognizant of his surroundings, he’d probably notice how upset Gerard sounds, but at the moment he barely registers the words at all.</p><p>He tightens his grip, and then he notices and loosens it as he sits up to inspect the briefcase. He can tell just from looking at the lock that it’s jammed now. Smoke actually wisps up faintly from the sides of it, dispersing into the air. Understandable, considering it just worked in a half-dozen ways it wasn't supposed to (especially how it's traded his body and position and location with where he was this morning instead of doubling up on the currently-existing Mikeys). It wasn’t meant to be reverted to time travel at all, and doing so had pulled the tool apart. Mikey would actually bet, based on his experience with self-created time travel and his recent experience with artificial time travel, that the technology is in short supply because the material can only withstand maybe one or two round trips. He wonders how many B.L.I. employees they lost to testing. And then, irrationally, he thinks of the bullet hole in Gerard’s cheek and hopes they lost <em> hundreds</em>. He hopes that the spacetime that he experiences as tunnels of fabric was, to them, like being dragged through a claustrophobically thin cave with jagged, razor-sharp stone lining the walls.</p><p>His chair is pulled backwards. Gerard bends down to him, grabbing his shoulders and searching his eyes with concern. “Mikey?”</p><p>Mikey realizes he’s been crying. He hadn’t known.</p><p>Gerard pushes the hair out of his face and wipes the tears off and takes the briefcase away, tucking it under the table before turning back to Mikey. “Hey, Mikeyway. You’re gonna have to help me out here, ‘cause I don’t know what happened.”</p><p>“I hope you never know,” Mikey says.</p><p>“Tell me anyway,” Gerard says.</p><p>“You—“ Mikey’s jaw jocks up and he grits his teeth. “You and Ray died. For real. I wasn’t in a fake timeline, I was in <em> this </em>timeline. I modified the briefcase so I could rewind and fix it. Korse attacks the house tonight and I couldn’t save everyone last time.”</p><p>He sits up, looks past Gerard to the table, which is very much still full of brothers, and meets Brian’s eye.</p><p>“We need weapons. I know we have superpowers, but they have <em> guns. </em> And we can’t let them catch us by surprise,” Mikey says.</p><p>Brian nods, already staring off into the distance the way he does when he’s considering logistics. “We’ll need to be careful with how we prepare, but I agree,” he says. His gaze slides back to Mikey. “You lived out today. What did we learn?”</p><p>“I—“ Mikey thinks back to before the break-in. It’s hard. It seems like the break-in was the only thing that matters, but he knows that he has to explain what happened lest they waste the whole day retracing their steps. “Christa found the book of our other siblings. I remember what the first page looks like. I could pick it out. And— Bob got really into the monetary transactions of B.L.I., and found files of an important employee. But I didn’t… I didn’t check how. I can give you the name of who, but I don’t know how he found the files in the first place.”</p><p>“Is your teleportation ready?”</p><p>“Kinda,” Mikey says. “The math is there, I just haven’t practiced— I could do it without killing anyone, but it might send me into a coma at that distance with all of us together.”</p><p>“Then—“</p><p>“Hold on,” Gerard says in his Leader Voice - the one that makes everyone stop and listen because Father had it drilled into everyone that Gerard gets to call the shots when there’s a call to make. It's a voice that Mikey hasn’t heard since Party Poison. Once Gerard has silence, he turns from Brian to Mikey. “Mikes. Are you okay?”</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Gerard says slowly.</p><p>Mikey grits his teeth and stands up. "<em>Yes </em>. I can fix what I fucked up last time. I just need to get to work.”</p><p>He teleports to Father’s room. Mikey grabs the first journal he can find. From there, he opens it to the first page, scans the first sentence, and then promptly drops the book to the ground and reaches for the next one. Four piles in, seven books deep, he finds the one that matches his memory and flips through. It’s the same pages of maps and newspapers and notations that Christa found.</p><p>He teleports to the kitchen and drops the book on the table beside Brian’s plate.</p><p>“Here,” he says.</p><p>Brian blinks at it, and then picks it up and pages through it. “Okay… any recommendations for what to change so that we’re ready this time?”</p><p>“I know that they came for us after sunset. As long as we don’t do anything to change what they do today, we have the whole day to get ready for them. We need weaponry.”</p><p>Brian nods. “We can do that. Once you try out some smaller jumps, you can try taking a few people along to get equipment.”</p><p>Mikey finds himself nodding. “I need to start on specific calibrations. Everyone should check exactly how much they weigh. Not a weird thing, just… like, mass.”</p><p>“Everyone good on that?” Brian asks the table.</p><p>They all murmur agreements and nod.</p><p>“Great. Then, Ray, Christa, you two start looking up where to get weapons. Your goal is to decide what weaponry we can reasonably carry, and then to find an address of a store Mikey can teleport you to where there’s no way news will get back to Korse. We don’t want to change something that will make him attack earlier than we’re expecting. Bob, you're looking for Mikey’s personnel lead. I want Frank to help you with that. Frank, play nice. Worm, you, Gerard, and I will do our best to find stuff with the book,” Brian says. “Any objections?”</p><p>The time for comment comes and goes in silence.</p><p>“Great. Now, I’m planning on finishing my breakfast first, so,” Brian mutters, beginning to cut his pancakes.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Today, the math is different.</p><p>He doesn’t notice for the first couple hours. The thought dawns on him slowly, creeping in as he writes example problems and solutions. One minute he’s trying out the weight variables for 200 extra pounds on the left side, and the next he’s zoning out because he just noticed that the ventilation in the room is the only noise. The sound distracts him enough to lower his marker and turn away from the white board. It’s a moment to breathe, and that’s when the revelation starts to crash over him.</p><p>Mikey hadn’t noticed before, but what he is doing <em> is </em>lonely work. He stands at the front of an empty classroom and writes math on a board, observed only by desks which have barely been used at all in the last decade.</p><p>Once he makes the connection that he is lonely, his mind is flung back to the conversation he had with Gerard on the day that wasn’t. Gerard had asked, <em> “why do you stay alone?” </em> Mikey thought Gerard was being pushy and sentimental, but he’s coming to realize that Gerard had a point. Mikey is lonely. He has been for <em> years </em>.</p><p>So what is he doing?</p><p>He’s in a house full of family, separated from him not by vast gaps of time or lost memories, but by drywall and a couple dozen feet.</p><p>And he’s just standing here. Testing an equation that he <em> knows </em> will work.</p><p>(He can feel it in his gut - the way it clicks into place like all the right formulas do.)</p><p>Why is he standing here, making sure for the thirtieth time that he’s ready? Being here doesn’t make him happy, nor does it improve his family’s chance of survival.</p><p>Mikey is wasting time.</p><p>And, well. That’s enough for him to cap his pen and leave the room. Being wasteful is not efficient.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The obvious choice of company is Ray and Christa.</p><p>Mikey may be done with his work, but Brian, Gerard, Bob, Frank, and Worm are all probably working hard at chasing the leads Mikey gave them, and they’ll probably be doing so right up until they leave for California. Meanwhile, Mikey can’t imagine that it would take two trained officers longer than a few hours to find a place to buy some guns.</p><p>So, he teleports up to Father’s bedroom to check up on them.</p><p>Christa startles while Ray looks up with a smile. “Mikey! Come to check in on progress?” Ray asks.</p><p>“I guess so,” Mikey says awkwardly. It’s not like he had conversation starters prepared or anything, so business talk is better than nothing.</p><p>“Sure thing. Obviously, it’s probably better to go to a police supply store than a purely hunting one. We just keep debating over where we should go,” Ray says. “It’s all about distance. Maine, Vermont, and New Hampshire are definitely the easiest to buy in, but that’s fucking far. So I was looking at Rhode Island—“</p><p>“I can make it up there,” Mikey says.</p><p>Ray blinks. “Oh. You can?”</p><p>“Yeah. As long as you can give me the altitude,”</p><p>Christa punches Ray’s shoulder. “Told you.”</p><p>Ray squints. “How am I supposed to know the limits of Mikey’s new and untested powers?”</p><p>“He has superpowers and he’s a kid genius. Of course, he could figure it out.”</p><p>“Regular genius,” Mikey says under his breath. “I’m thirty.”“Right. Sorry.”</p><p>“‘S cool,” Mikey says. “The ‘being a kid’ thing is a recent development for me too.”</p><p>“You’re up for going to Vermont, then? Because that state will sell heavy weaponry to literally anyone for any reason.”</p><p>“Yeah. I’m down.”</p><p>“Sweet. Then go get the rock star.”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>Christa smiles. “It’s not that I don’t like you, Mikey, but I did get shot a few days ago. I’m gonna stay in bed, and Ray thinks that Frank would be the perfect candidate to bring along.”</p><p>Mikey looks towards Ray.</p><p>Ray stares back. “Bob’s tracing monetary transactions. You don’t honestly think that Frank is really helping with that, do you?”</p><p>“Point taken,” Mikey says. “I’ll go get him, then.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p><br/><br/>Half an hour later and Mikey’s putting his hands on their shoulders and pulling them through space.</p><p>This time…</p><p>He still sways when he lands in Vermont, but unlike the other times, the dizziness doesn’t come with a headache or nausea. It’s just… imbalance. Mild dizziness.</p><p>“You good?” Ray asks anyway.</p><p>Mikey blinks until the roadside stops swaying. He stands up straighter and waves off Ray’s hovering hands and takes a few tentative steps forward. “Shiny. Let’s go.”</p><p>The shopping itself is pretty simple; they have all the money they could possibly need thanks to Father, so it’s more a matter of buying what will actually be used. Ray heads straight for the knife selection. He squats by the glass casing to get a closer look and generally looks like an idiot doing it. It’s obvious where he’s going to be spending his time, and Mikey actually finds that kind of endearing.</p><p>“Do you have any idea what you want?” Frank asks.</p><p>“A semi-automatic pistol, I think,” Mikey says.</p><p>“Rifles would give you a lot more range,” Frank says conversationally.</p><p>“Handguns are what I know,” Mikey says, shrugging. “Rifles are too heavy for my taste. If you like ‘em so much, you can buy one.”</p><p>“I think I’m going with an uzi. Submachine gun would be sick to dual-wield.”</p><p>“You need both hands for any gun,” Ray calls from down the aisle, “or else the kickback’ll make your aim shit.”</p><p>“Nobody asked,” Frank retorts.</p><p>“Listen anyway,” Ray says.</p><p>“He’s such a <em> cop </em>,” Frank mutters, and then he peers over Mikey’s shoulder at the handgun selection in the glass counter. “You know we have future guns at the house, right?”</p><p>“Pass,” Mikey says. He sort of wishes Frank would just start looking at weapons for himself instead of light conversation. “I have another plan for those.”</p><p>“Oooo-kay,” Frank says, drawing the word out hesitantly. “But, like, really? Pistols have such short range.”</p><p>“I can teleport. Range isn’t an issue for me,” Mikey says, holding back a sigh.</p><p>Frank snorts. “I guess. I’m just saying it’s not super flashy. Any idea what Gerard would want?”</p><p>“Well. He just lived through World War II, so I’m gonna go out on a limb and say<em> ‘nothing with bullets’. </em>He gets triggered by the sound of live ammo now— or, I mean, he did in the timeline I came from” Mikey says. “So I’m getting him a couple hatchets, giving him those rayguns and calling it a day.”</p><p>“I guess if you look at—”</p><p>“Do you mind?” Mikey grits out, turning to glare at Frank. “I’m trying to focus.”</p><p>Frank stares back at him, surprised, but then throws up his hands and walks away. “Fuckin’ teenagers,” he says.</p><p>Mikey goes back to his gun appraisal.</p><p>“That was harsh,” Ray says quietly after a few seconds, once Frank is on the other side of the store. “He wasn’t being <em> that </em> annoying.”</p><p>He doesn’t respond.</p><p>“Did he piss you off?” Ray asks. “When did he have the chance to do that? You guys were fine yesterday.”</p><p>Mikey thinks he wants something classic for a handgun. Nothing flashy. Something light and with limited kickback, so that his little teenager arms can stay accurate without his physical strength.</p><p>“Oh,” Ray says. “The other timeline?”</p><p><em> Fucking detectives. Of course, Ray would piece it together in less than a minute. </em> Mikey flits his gaze over and meets Ray’s eye. “Did you know that he and Gerard had a fling?”</p><p>Ray’s eyes widen. “I didn’t know Frank ever <em> acted </em> on that, no.”</p><p>“From what I hear, he’s been a holier-than-thou bastard about Gerard’s addictions. Gerard says Frank dumped him and hooked up with Jamia,” Mikey says. “Which would be fine, but Frank told him not to come to the wedding.”</p><p>“What? But—“</p><p>“But <em> what?” </em></p><p>Ray frowns. “But Frank’s always been head-over-heels for Gerard. <em> Always </em> . It’s been— it’s always been that Gerard isolated himself from all of us so we wouldn’t see him high or drunk or whatever. I would know; I spent a decade paying his bail only for him to tell me to fuck off. So are you sure Frank <em> actually </em> pushed Gerard away? Or did Gerard just assume that Frank falling in love with Jamia was a sign that <em> he </em> was unlovable?”</p><p>Mikey blinks.</p><p>“Listen, I know Frank sucks at keeping in contact. But that wasn’t just Gerard, it was everyone. And Gerard was doing the same thing — refusing to talk to anyone. I don’t know what went down, but I’m pretty sure half of it comes down to Gerard reading the room wrong because he was out of his mind,” Ray says.</p><p>“Oh,” Mikey says. He glances at Frank. “Hey, Ray. Would you mind if Frank had to leave early?”</p><p>Ray grins. “Well, he told us what he wanted, didn’t he? We can get it for him.”</p><p>Mikey smirks back.</p><p>He teleports over to Frank and grabs his wrist. Frank jumps in surprise. “Mikey, what the fuck. You scared—“</p><p>“We’re going home,” Mikey says.</p><p>He jumps, pulling Frank along until they land in the surveillance room, where Brian, Worm, and Gerard are.</p><p>“Hey,” Mikey says.</p><p>“The fuck—?” Frank exclaims.</p><p>“Mind if I borrow Gerard?” Mikey asks.</p><p>Brian glances over Mikey and Frank and then shakes his head.</p><p>“Cool,” Mikey says, and then he uses his free hand to grab Gerard’s wrist and pull him to his feet.</p><p>Another teleport and they’re in the basement, in the locked cell that they recently discovered was built for Brian.</p><p>Mikey lets go of the two of them. “You’re both fucking idiots. If I come back in an hour and you’re not done being emotionally stunted losers, I’m gonna kick both of your asses.”</p><p>“Mikey—?” Gerard starts.</p><p>“Fuck you, shut up and stop making self-destructive assumptions,” Mikey says. He points at Frank and glares. “And you. If I come back and my brother still thinks you dumped him because he <em> wasn’t good enough? </em> I’m gonna leave you behind for Korse to find. Swear to god.”</p><p>Frank just stares wide-eyed.</p><p>Mikey nods. “Now figure this shit out before the world ends.”</p><p>And he teleports back to Vermont.</p><p>“Cool,” he mutters.</p><p>“Look at you,” Ray muses from where he’s still looking over the knife selection, not having moved an inch. “Practicing your powers and team building at the same time. If only Father could see you now.”</p><p>Mikey actually laughs at that.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Once they buy three duffel bags worth of assorted weaponry, they head outside and start walking, even though Mikey could just take them home at any time. Neither of them mention that as they mosey along, through the parking lot and towards the roadside.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Ray asks. He sounds genuine and concerned, but not very urgent about it.</p><p>“Yeah. That whole bad timeline gave me a scare, but I’m fine. What I saw sucked, but it was only for a few minutes. Like a nightmare. I don’t think it really counts if there isn’t time for it to sink in,” Mikey says.</p><p>Ray nods. “I guess. I’m not really sure what rules apply there. I’ve never had to consider how to deal with trauma when you can fix the damage with time travel.”</p><p>“As if we haven’t been experiencing trauma our whole lives,” Mikey snorts. “We’re a horror story, not a superhero comic.”</p><p>“Tell that to the <em> literal </em> comics they printed,” Ray says.</p><p>Mikey smiles.</p><p>They're both quiet for a minute, and their aimless walk down the road slows to a stop. Ray lets out a heavy breath. “On the night you came back, you said something I couldn’t get out of my head. You said ‘I don’t need love, I need cooperation.’”</p><p>Slowly, Mikey nods. “Sounds like something I would say.”</p><p>“Well. I just wanted you to know you have both,” Ray says. “It’s not either/or with me. You’re always gonna have me on your side. Ride or die trust, y’know?”</p><p>“I think…” Mikey trails off, and he turns to look at the Vermont countryside. It’s a sunny summer day. “I was angry. And freaked. It felt like years of my life were building up to the one week where I get to try and stop Better Living. The whole time, I was thinking about how I had to make things go perfectly. And then there were so many curveballs. I didn’t know it would be Korse, or that something would happen to Gerard. So I just tried to do things myself. Fight scarecrows or infiltrate a B.L.I. mixer or work on equations alone or interrogate Korse or whatever. I thought if I did that stuff alone, nothing would go wrong because I could micromanage myself. I thought it would keep things from getting out of control.”</p><p>“Past tense? What changed?”</p><p>“I’m scared now,” he says. “I’m scared because I saw how easy it would be for you guys to die. ‘Cause if we don’t get this right this week, this whole timeline’s fucked just like all the timelines before me. And I’m realizing that I barely even care about those other loops of Mikey. I want <em> mine </em> to be the one that matters. I want to be able to save you.”</p><p>Mikey sniffs uncomfortably and glances up at the sky to blink away his tears.</p><p>“And if I can’t, and I do lose all my memories when the world ends, I don’t want to have wasted my time alone when I could have been spending it with you.”</p><p>Ray’s hand comes around his shoulder, and the next thing he knows, he’s being slammed into Ray’s chest, held close and tight.</p><p>Mikey laughs. “This is dumb.”</p><p>Ray says, “I love you.”</p><p>He holds on.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When they come back to the Academy, they land in the surveillance room and find Worm, Brian, and Bob all discussing.</p><p>“Oh, hey,” Bob says.</p><p>“Hi,” Ray says. He promptly drops his weapon bag on the ground. Mikey follows suit. “We got a bunch of guns and way more ammo than we should be able to use.”</p><p>“Where did Frank and Gerard go?” Bob asks.</p><p>“I locked them in the basement,” Mikey says. “In the prison Father made for Brian.”</p><p>Everyone’s completely silent.</p><p>And then, Ray makes a strangled noise and raises a hand to cover his mouth as he laughs.</p><p>Brian squints at him. “You locked them…”</p><p>“Yeah, so they’d figure their shit out already,” Mikey shrugs. “I didn’t take their phones away. If they have an emergency, they’ll call. Now, what have you guys been up to?”</p><p>The three of them look at each other.</p><p>“Why don’t we give them the good news first?” Worm says.</p><p>“Yeah, alright,” Brian says. “Bob found Ryan Upton easily enough. From his credentials, we got into their system. Firstly, we got the map of where they’re raising the walls, so we know where we’re supposed to be looking. It’s mostly in downtown LA, by the way.”</p><p>“Secondly, I went ahead and booked us a couple motel rooms for tonight, so we know where we’re going, at least.</p><p>“Thirdly, I got a few matches in Better Living employee files to our lost siblings. Mariko Tamaki, Kieron Dweyer, and Ivan Reis. All listed in Better Living’s database as employees, all listed in Father’s notebook as numbers Seventeen, Twenty-Nine, and Thirty-Two. Interestingly, I found that Number Nine is a Grant Morrison, gifted with the power to remove attributes. Sounds familiar, right? Presumably it later evolved into removing powers, hence his whole… thing. He had a rich mom who refused to sell, though, so there went Father’s chance to adopt Korse into our lovely family. Here’s the bad news, though. I found a classified file when I went digging,” Brian says. “Becky Cloonan is categorized as a prisoner, sentenced to do labor in the security department.”</p><p>“Why would you have a prisoner working in security?” Ray asks.</p><p>“Because according to Father’s book, someone named Becky Cloonan has the ability to create doppelgängers of one person at a time. So, how much do you want to bet that there’s more than one Director out there?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Mikey sits with Brian for the afternoon. The others drift in and out, watching their search through B.L.I.’s employee files or leaving to pack their things. When Mikey asks if he needs a break, Brian says that all he needs is either in his laptop or his backpack. So they sit there.</p><p>Sometimes Mikey will recognize faces in the files. Old coworkers, or Scarecrows that were promoted to exterminators, or businessmen he’s hacked. Not much of that is useful information, though. Mostly, he’s keeping Brian company.</p><p>“This is going to be much harder than we thought,” Brian says.</p><p>“I know,” Mikey agrees.</p><p>“We have to get to Cloonan, who will no doubt be on total lockdown. And even if we find her, we either have to convince her to help us or kill her. And even then, we still have to find and kill the most heavily guarded official in the entire company,” Brian says. “And there’s no way she won’t know we’re coming, if all her doubles go missing before we get to her.”</p><p>“Yeah. We don’t have another choice,” Mikey says.</p><p>“We don’t. I just… we have to have as much as we can planned out and ready to go. Our one advantage is that the modern Better Living has absolutely no idea that we’re even looking into them. Otherwise, we’re on our own. And even if we do get it right and stop the entire apocalypse, then we still have to deal with the time traveling B.L.I. operatives from the timeline we’re preventing, right? Or do they disappear?”</p><p>“No, they would… they would exist, because they physically left and escaped their timeline. We’d still have to deal with them eventually.”</p><p>Eventually, Brian says, “alright, that’s enough pessimism. I think we should grab dinner and get going.”</p><p>“Sure,” Mikey says. “I’m good to go whenever.”</p><p>Brian stares at him. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p><em> “Frank and Gerard, </em> dude,” Brian says. “You locked them in a soundproof prison underground. We can’t leave without them.”</p><p>“Oh,” Mikey says. “I was gonna get them eventually.”</p><p>“Right. Would you get them <em> now </em>, please?”</p><p>“I guess,” Mikey says.</p><p>“Great. I’ll start dinner.”</p><p>Mikey stands up and turns away, teleporting mid-step back to the safe room. He blinks as his eyes adjust, and notices that Frank and Gerard are sitting against the wall, side-by-side. Except for Frank, who is scrambling to his feet and glaring at Mikey with a very angry expression.</p><p>“You motherfucker—!”</p><p>Mikey waits until Frank is running straight for a tackle and then teleports in front of Gerard and crouches down. “How’d it go, bro?”</p><p>“That wasn’t the nicest thing you’ve ever done,” Gerard says.</p><p>“Bullshit!” Frank yells. “What if one of us had an emergency? Or needed water? Or had to piss?”</p><p>“I didn’t take your phones,” Mikey says.</p><p>“Holy shit, how did <em> neither </em>of us think of that?” Gerard mutters while Frank blinks in shock.</p><p>“Dude, it was a few hours. Stop being dramatic,” Mikey says, rolling his eyes. He glances back to Gerard. “For real. Did you sort it out?”</p><p>Gerard looks down. “Yeah. I don’t know how you knew, but yeah.”</p><p>Mikey stands up and turns over his shoulder to Frank. “So you apologized?”</p><p>“Frankie’s fine, Mikes,” Gerard says, grabbing Mikey’s hand as he stands up too. “I’m the one that decides if he’s forgiven, right?”</p><p>“I maintain the right to brotherly wariness.”</p><p>“Aren’t I your brother too?” Frank complains.</p><p>“Shut up. Don’t make this weird,” Mikey snaps. And then he looks back up at Gerard. “He’s my brother, but you’re my <em> brother </em>, Gee. And nobody gets to treat you like you’re an obligation.”</p><p>Gerard smiles. “Thanks, Mikes.”</p><p>“Did you get the guns with Ray?” Frank asks.</p><p>“Did <em> you </em>make out with Gerard?” Mikey asks.</p><p>“Really?” Frank sighs. “This is how it’s gonna be until the end of the world?”</p><p>“Let me have this,” Mikey says.</p><p>“Yeah. I did.”</p><p>“And yeah, we got the guns. Your uzi included,” Mikey says. “New handguns for everyone. I got hatches for you, Gee. Figured that rifles are a big no for you right now.”</p><p>The way Gerard’s face lights up is answer enough.</p><p>“Good, so you get hatchets and rayguns, which are pretty disposable, but everyone in Better Living will probably have them, so you should be fine to loot new ones once the fighting starts. What else… uh, I got a bunch of explosives for myself to drop in unlikely places. A simple pistol for Bob. Hefty hunting knives for Ray. Got a scoped rifle for Brian. I think that’s most of it. We know where we’re going and everything. All that’s left to figure out is… well, so there’s some new fucked up shit I wasn’t aware of,” Mikey sighs. “Something about another superpower that’s really throwing a wrench in the ‘kill The Director’ plan.”</p><p>“Sounds like a long story,” Frank says. “Could we hear it somewhere that’s not a cell?”</p><p>Mikey snorts. He teleports outside the cell and tugs on the vault lock, turning it until the whole door unlocks and swings open when he pulls on it. “Let’s get dinner.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>As dinner comes and goes, Mikey grows more and more aware of the clocks in the house and in corner of his flip phone’s screen. He doesn’t remember exactly when Korse attacked last Wednesday, but he remembers it being dark outside. It’s nearly 7 pm, and the sun is burying itself amongst the buildings on the horizon.</p><p>“We’ll be okay,” Brian assures. “I’m watching the time. We’ll be gone before they get here.”</p><p>“Cutting it close is asking for trouble,” Mikey shoots back, but mostly he’s nervous. He watches Bob stepping down the stairs, carrying Christa’s wheelchair with Christa still seated on it as he goes. Ray trails behind, followed by Gerard, all of whom have bags over their shoulders. “Can we round off luggage weights real quick?”</p><p>They comply, listing estimates of their bag weights and then their own weight. Frank shouts a suspiciously well-rounded number from upstairs, where he’s still packing.</p><p>Mikey starts pacing, running the numbers in his head. It’s more about weight than position, but position might just have an exponential effect with distance that he hasn’t experienced yet. There’s quite a bit of information that he could be missing. There’s no good alternative, though, so fuck it.</p><p>“Mikes,” Gerard calls.</p><p>Mikey looks up.</p><p>“How long do you expect to be out of commission from this?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Mikey says. “I don’t think it’ll kill me or put me in a coma, though.”</p><p>“Shit, sorry,” Frank exclaims, hurrying down the stairs. “I’m ready.”</p><p>“Finally,” Mikey says.</p><p>“So, what are we doing?” Gerard asks.</p><p>Mikey walks up to him and takes one of his hands, and then reaches to the side and grabs Bob’s hand. “Everyone hold hands, and shut up, and be ready to be in a parking lot.”</p><p>Bob takes Ray’s hand, and Ray takes Christa’s, and she grabs Brian who grabs Worm who grabs Frank who grabs Gerard, and it’s a full circle, and Mikey takes a deep breath and thinks of his equation. It should be fine.</p><p>His hands start glowing blue, a blurry fire that never settles, and it spreads around the circle, fading through and around everyone. Mikey grunts and tightens his hands and strains, willing the wormhole to swallow all of them and spit them out in a very specific hotel parking lot. Then—</p><p>
  <b> <em>FWWP!</em> </b>
</p><p>They land and Mikey is hit with such a headache that he barely even registers pain, just collapses on the spot. Bob and Gerard’s hands on his arms are the only things that keep him from braining himself on asphalt, but the whiplash his neck gets from falling and jerking to a stop is enough to kick his senses back into gear. And then the pain hits.</p><p>He must make some pitiful noise, but it all stops pretty quickly when he passes out.</p><p>
  <em>Thank god.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I guess you could say they ditched the rayguns and bought some Conventional Weapons.</p><p>(Sidenote: If the pseudo-incest squicks anyone, tell me and I’ll tag it. I figured we’re good since the au lends itself to non-relation and we don’t perceive them as brothers anyway, but I get it if the lines are too blurred for comfort. Let me know.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Burn Outs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <strong>Dawn (kinda) of</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>The Final Day</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>-24 Hours Remain-</strong>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>???? ????????</strong><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>  He’s dreaming, maybe.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He looks up at the windows and the sunlight coming through it is golden and bright in a way that doesn’t happen in real life. He walks down the stairs mindlessly. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Mikes,” Gerard says, suddenly beside him. “We’re going out tonight. Don’t get too tired.” </em>
</p>
<p><em> Mikey turns to him and raises an eyebrow. The precise message that he’s conveying to Gerard is a sentiment of </em>‘what, I’m gonna wear myself out reading comic books?’</p>
<p>
  <em> Gerard snickers, because he understands Mikey’s expressions just as well as he would have understood words. “Yeah, okay. I know.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> And they step down the last few stairs in perfect sync, and the dream shifts. </em>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> “Wouldn’t it be easier to get a mattress?” Mikey asks doubtfully. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Absolutely out of the question,” Father says. “The entire purpose of this exercise is to ensure that you have no need for such things. Unless you’ve developed complete control over your personal inertia, this is a critical skill.” </em>
</p>
<p><em> Mikey gets that. But he doesn’t like the part where he’s </em> jumping off a roof <em> and </em> hoping <em> that Bob can catch him. And you’d think it would be easy, if Bob could just break his fall, but that’s not really how physics works. He’s read </em> Amazing Spider-Man, <em> and he doesn’t want to end up like Gwen Stacy. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> “Now, are you prepared?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Yeah. Sure.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Then get on with it. And if you give the signal before you’re falling, you can rest assured that there will be consequences,” Father warns. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Mikey nods, and bounces on his feet a couple times, and then takes a running start and jumps off the edge. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> And he’s fucking falling. </em>
</p>
<p><b> <em>“Heads up!”</em> </b> <em> Mikey bellows as loud as he can. He counts in his head a rushed </em> onetwothreefourfive <em> while he windmills his arms, trying to flatten his body horizontally. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> And teleports. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Almost instantly, he hits something, but it moves under him, moving with him to decrease the acceleration. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Mikey?” Bob asks worriedly. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Fuck,” Mikey wheezes quietly, tilting his head back. “‘M fine. I’m fine.” </em>
</p>
<p><em> His back and legs fucking hurt. Even though he didn’t hit the ground, landing on Bob’s arms is </em> nothing at all <em> like landing on a pillow. Especially when he must have fallen at least two stories before he teleported directly above Bob. The bright side of this is that Bob </em> did <em> actually catch him, and he didn’t hit the courtyard floor and crack his skull open. </em></p>
<p>Training fucking sucks.</p>
<p>
  <em> “You could’ve jumped earlier. I was ready,” Bob says. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Okay,” Mikey says. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Number Five! Stop slacking off!” Father’s voice yells from the top of the Academy courtyard. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Bob sets Mikey on his feet and pats his shoulders. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I’ll catch you,” Bob promises. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Mikey teleports back up to Father. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Well? What are the results?” Father asks. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “I’m okay. Aches. But it’s fine,” he says. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “And the timing?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “He says I could have teleported sooner,” Mikey says. </em>
</p>
<p><em> “On that, we can agree. You must trust in Number One’s reaction time. Every fraction of a second you spend falling increases your velocity and makes it </em> that <em> much more difficult to catch you without physical harm. There is only so much he can do to break your fall. Additionally, you musn’t run off the edge. You must jump, or he will hear you and have an unfair advantage. Unless you want him to be unprepared in real-life application, he must be adjusted to responding to this command with no prior warning. Now, again.” </em></p>
<p>
  <em> And Mikey grits his teeth, and jumps off the roof, knowing it won’t be the last time he’ll do it today. </em>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> He has a lot of memories of Elena. She would say things that they’d never heard. She would say, “I know you’re doing great things, but you need to take care of yourself. You kids are my world, as far as I’m concerned.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> She would say, “Mikey, what’s got you in a mood? Sit down at the table and talk to me.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> She would say, “I think it’s wonderful to care so much. Even if it hurts. Worry is just love, isn’t it?” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> She would say, “I love you.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Nobody else said that before her. But she said it. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Mikey thinks that she was the only reason The Academy was anything more than eternal juvenile detention. Every bit of joy and compassion and love was learned from her. It all came from her. The others forgot it - began to discount her advice when they grew up enough to grow skeptical of everything. But Gerard and Mikey never lost their enamor with her. She gave them love, and they never stopped giving it back to her. </em>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> A mission, where Gerard runs about the front lines like he owns the place. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Mikey, ten!” Gerard shouts. “Ray, four!” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Mikey whips his head around to orient himself. He catches sight of the door they entered and then finds Gerard’s frame by the bulletproof vest, and the line between the two points to twelve o’ clock. From there he’s teleporting to the robbers at ten o’clock, taking them out. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Somewhere across the museum exhibit, he’s sure Ray’s knives just found a bullseye in whoever Gerard pointed out. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> By all means, Gerard <strong>shouldn’t</strong> be front and center like he is. He’s got no more strength than an average teenage boy, and all he has is combat training to give him an upper hand against the adult men who they’re often up against, but Gerard prowls the front of a fight like a beast. And more than that, Gerard can read a room easily. He knows where it’s safe to stand, where to position himself around his brothers so that he can call for their help when he needs it. Gerard was a born leader, and under his instruction, his brothers fell dozens in minutes. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Mikey! Bob! Help Otter!” Gerard calls. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Mikey searches the room and sees Otter ducking and dodging punches thrown by a big hulk of a man. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He teleports over to Ray, pulls a knife from the shoulder of his harness, and then teleports above the wrestling pair and lands on the brute’s back while driving the knife into the collarbone. The guy stumbles backward, quickly reaching up for Mikey. He doesn’t have a chance to grab a hold, though, because Bob comes out of nowhere, runs straight at the two of them, and sends a punch straight into the bad guy’s gut. Mikey and the bodyguard are sent sailing backward through the air, literally thrown off the ground from the impact. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Of course, Mikey has enough sense to teleport away before the man can collide with the wall. He rotates when he teleports, and the velocity spits him out, skidding backward across the marble floor until he slows to a stop by Bob’s side. They’re all still facing the bodyguard dude to make sure he’s down for the count. (He is.) When the body slumps, it leaves a spider web of cracks in the brick museum wall. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Ooh. Style points,” Mikey says. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Not my best, but I’ll take it,” Bob shrugs, turning back to the fight. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Thanks for the save,” Otter says. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Mikey raises a fist, and Otter bumps it back before they go their separate ways, picking battles where they see them until Gerard asks for their attention elsewhere. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The room’s mostly clear by now. The invasion of the museum seems to be running out of invaders. Mikey wonders if they’re fleeing. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Guys!” Gerard calls. ”Moving on! Ray, sweep behind us and collect. C’mon, let’s go!” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Mikey watches his brothers jog forward up some stairs, and up to the next landing to fight the next room of robbers, and he takes the moment to catch his breath. Fucking superhero work. Nobody ever talks about how sweaty it is when you’re stabbing dudes for an hour straight. </em>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Dedicated homework time isn’t the worst thing in the world. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Mikey has a lot more homework than some of his brothers do. Frank’s homework is always vocabulary and literature-heavy, and Brian’s tactical homework seems larger in volume than anyone else, but it’s Mikey and Ray who are forced to specialize in math so that they can learn enough to begin physics. Ray only needs surface-level understanding, though. Mikey is the one who really has to chew through textbooks to figure out what an antiderivative is so that he can figure out how to get displacement from acceleration. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> He sits with his door open, slouching on his chair and lazily writing out lines and lines of math as the afternoon ticks by. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The saving grace is that Gerard doesn’t have nearly as much homework, and instead of giving him free time, Father has ordered Gerard to learn piano. Nobody will ever let Father know just how much Gerard likes playing it, of course. That would ruin the illusion. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> But his keystrokes reverberate down the hall, from where Father has cleared one of the many vacant bedrooms to become a studio. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Though, it’s sort of hard to call a piano and a guitar in an otherwise empty room a “studio”. Whatever. Turn of phrase. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Gerard plays alone, unaccompanied, because for someone to play with him would be against at least one of Father’s rules. Brian is the only one who is technically allowed to play guitar, and nobody is allowed to talk to Brian. So, Gerard plays solo, inventing pieces from scales or copying what he’s heard on the radio or from smuggled-in tapes. They’re all sad today, not hopeful or triumphant. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Mikey knows tonight is another mausoleum night. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> If he wasn’t being watched on the cameras, he’d probably go and talk to Gerard. But he is, so he sits with his homework. It doesn’t matter. Gerard knows that Mikey will come for him. </em>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> They’re at Griddy’s, laughing. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Mikey is tucked under Gerard’s arm, and Otter has one arm slung over both of them, and the three of them are crammed into one side of the booth while Bob and Ray and Brian take the other side, with Frank seated on Bob’s lap. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> The words they’re saying evade him, but they are warm and happy. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> They’re sitting around, waiting for the waitress to bring them their discounted, day-old, slightly-stale donuts. Frank will probably beg for the leftover donut holes that didn’t sell in the daytime, and he’ll probably get them. They can’t afford much, because they don’t get an allowance, because they aren’t supposed to leave the Academy except for missions. But Gerard has a wallet for ‘emergencies’, and he’s only supposed to use it if the team gets stranded during a mission and needs to buy something, but Frank promises that if they ever actually need stuff, he’ll rumor someone to give it to them. It’s much better to spend that emergency money on Griddy’s. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Otter’s telling some story from a book he read, and Frank keeps pitching in, because he read the book too, and Mikey’s not even paying attention. He’s just happy. </em>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>THURSDAY 18:17</strong> <em><br/>
</em></p>
<p>He wakes up, still warm from the dream.</p>
<p>He blinks his eyes open to the yellow glow on the ceiling of a room he’s never been in.</p>
<p>Mikey’s sitting up and tensing, looking around for danger, but he scans the room - a two-bed hotel room - and stops when he sees Bob and Gerard whispering in the kitchenette.</p>
<p>“-ver meant to make it that way. It was just what happened. You know why.”</p>
<p>“I do. And I don’t blame you for what they did, but I do think that it got that bad because you weren’t there to keep everyone in line. Or, that’s what I thought for a long time,” Bob says, tired. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About blame. I think I’ve been a little too gung-ho about it.”</p>
<p>“You’re allowed to be angry,” Gerard says. “With me. With them. But we draw a line at how. It’s one thing to say it’s our fault, and another to say it’s our fault because we didn’t listen to Father.”</p>
<p>“I know. I know,” Bob says. “I doubled down on that hard. I’m sorry about that, too.”</p>
<p>“And what are you thinking now?” Gerard asks.</p>
<p>“I think… he did a lot of unfair stuff. And I never liked it, but I convinced myself it must not have been that bad, because if I knew how bad it was, I should have stopped it.”</p>
<p>“You couldn’t have. But that’s okay. Keep going.”</p>
<p>“He turned me against all of you, once you left,” Bob says, sounding suddenly angry. “He said that everything that tore us apart was because you didn’t listen to him, and I bought it. I hated you. My own fucking brothers. He made me so angry that I didn’t even try to help any of you.”</p>
<p>Gerard nods.</p>
<p>“But now, when I think about it, I realize that his rules never protected anyone. He put us in danger, like, constantly. And we ended up paying the price for that. I mean, look at me. I’m, like, half-gorilla because it took sci-fi superhero serum bullshit to save me from a mission I shouldn’t have done alone,” Bob sighs. “And then he sent me to the moon so he wouldn’t have to deal with the PR nightmare.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Gerard says after a long pause. “He <em> did </em> do all of that. And it’s all gonna be okay. We can fix relationships. You’re still family. Nothing can change that, Bob.”</p>
<p>When Gerard reaches his arms up, Bob steps forward and hugs him close. For a long moment, they breathe together, Gerard looking absolutely tiny against Bob. And then Bob opens his eyes and looks up and says, “Holy shit, Mikey’s awake.”</p>
<p>Gerard spins around wide-eyed.</p>
<p>Mikey smiles. “Well. At least now I finally know why he was on the fucking moon.”</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p><br/>
<br/>
They call the front desk to order room service food for Mikey, who has been unconscious all day. In the meantime, the wait gives them time to talk about the current plan.</p>
<p>“Brian’s figuring it out, piece by piece,” Gerard says. “It’s gonna be infiltration for the most part. If the order to drop the bombs is given at six, then we’ll need to be in there well before then so that they don’t raise the walls before we’re in, but late enough that we’re sure The Director will be inside the city proper and not in a bunker somewhere in LA.”</p>
<p>“Right. We’re aiming for assassination, not siege,” Mikey nods.</p>
<p>“Bingo,” Bob says.</p>
<p>“Which means leaving you behind,” Gerard says.</p>
<p>“Sorry, what?” Mikey asks.</p>
<p>“Not just you. You, Bob, Christa, and Worm. You wouldn’t fit in with employees. A sixteen-year-old, a bodybuilder, a gorilla don’t exactly scream ‘accountants’, you know?"</p>
<p>"What's Christa's excuse?"</p>
<p>"We only got four fake IDs, and they're all for dudes. So the four of you are gonna have to wait while the rest of us get in place and figure out where we’re going,” Gerard says. "You'll be our B Team."</p>
<p>“You’re cool with that?” Mikey asks, turning to Bob.</p>
<p>“I’d rather not blow our cover right out of the gates,” Bob says.</p>
<p>Gerard shrugs. “Besides, you’ll need to be ready at the motel so you can bring us our guns anyway. We’d never make it past security with what we’re packing.”</p>
<p>“So, how are you planning on signaling me? They’ll probably take your phones away so you can’t get any messages out,” Mikey says. “And if you can’t tell me where you are, I can’t bring you anything.”</p>
<p>“Brian’s working on it,” Gerard says, glancing at Bob.</p>
<p>
  <em> That’s not particularly reassuring. </em>
</p>
<p>Gerard keeps going, though. “From there on, we have two targets. Becky Cloonan, the doppelgänger-maker, and then the Director. And once the Director is dead, it’s game over for their plans, right?”</p>
<p>“Sure,” Mikey nods. “Do you know where Becky is?”</p>
<p>“You’re the one from the future. Do you?”</p>
<p>“Dude, I was a rebel, and when I wasn’t, I was a terrorism specialist. I don’t know where the Director of Better Living Industries hides her top secret weapon during the apocalypse kick-off,” Mikey scoffs.</p>
<p>“Well. We’ll figure it out,” Gerard says. “We have to.”</p>
<p><em> That’s not good enough, </em> Mikey thinks. There’s way too much that could go wrong. Right now, his brothers have superpowers, but they’re a team designed to attack gangs, not armies. How would they fare against five hundred soldiers? A <em> thousand? </em></p>
<p>Gerard glances at him and seems to know what he’s thinking. “I know. It’s a risk. But we’re strong, and they don’t know we’re coming.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know how to search a city with such little info.”</p>
<p>“Hey,” Bob says. “Probably a dumb idea, but is time travel an option? If you could play out smaller loops of today, you might be able to find where she is by process of elimination.”</p>
<p>Mikey hesitates. “I’ve never actually time traveled accurately. Doing that just to learn by process of… wait…”</p>
<p>Bob blinks in surprise. “Woah, did I actually give you an idea?”</p>
<p>“Uh… I think yeah, actually. So I may not remember my past timelines, but I’m not the only person who saw them,” Mikey says excitedly. He turns to Gerard. “Any chance we could visit Mama?”</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Bob sits nervously on the other bed as Gerard gets up and kneels on Mikey’s mattress.</p>
<p>“Sorry. It’s been a while,” Gerard says.</p>
<p>“You’ve talked to her in the time since I’ve been gone,” Mikey says, furrowing his brows.</p>
<p>“Yeah, sure, if you want to include the times I hysterically begged her for your life. But I haven’t taken anyone along since the last time I took you,” Gerard sighs. He shakes his head and sits back on his heels. “Doesn’t matter. You remember how to do this?”</p>
<p>“Think so,” Mikey says. He reaches up and offers a hand to Gerard, and Gerard wraps both of his around Mikey’s.</p>
<p>“We’ll be back in a little, Bob. Don’t let anyone separate us while we’re unconscious,” Gerard says. “If my body stops touching him, that would be <em> really </em> bad. Like, his-body-stops-breathing bad.”</p>
<p>“Uh, what?” Bob asks sharply.</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” Gerard waves.</p>
<p>“Yeah, chill,” Mikey says.</p>
<p>Bob’s face twists in conflict, but eventually he crosses his arms and nods. “Nobody will touch either of you.”</p>
<p>Gerard smiles at both of them. “Okay. Let’s go.”</p>
<p>Mikey closes his eyes. A second later a wave of cold crashes into him from head to toe, and Gerard’s hand yanks on his, pulling him up. He sits up and spares a glance backwards at his body, lying down right where he left if. Turning back, he sees Gerard, stepping off the bed and gently guiding Mikey away from their bodies.</p>
<p>They stand up, and Gerard links his fingers with Mikey’s. “Alright. Halfway there,” he says. “Eyes closed, Mikes.”</p>
<p>Mikey closes his eyes again.</p>
<p>
  <em> The sensation is more gradual this time. It feels like a breeze picking up when you’re standing outdoors. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> When he opens his eyes, the world is grayscale, and they stand in the rubble of civilization. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Made it safe and sound,” Gerard grins. </em>
</p>
<p><em> Mikey smiles too, and he says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“You couldn’t fuck that up if you tried.”</p>
<p>
  <em> “Hey, you try entering another realm of existence,” Gerard grumbles. </em>
</p>
<p><em> And another voice says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“Ah, the Way brothers.”</p>
<p>
  <em> She stands there, across the clearing. She looks identical to how Mikey remembers her from childhood, and so very different from Phoenix Witch. A gas mask and a torn dress and explosively frizzy hair. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> “Hey Mama,” Gerard says, but he can’t hold up his smile. “Sorry I didn’t visit sooner.” </em>
</p>
<p><em> And Mother War says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“It was to be expected. You’re so dramatic when you lose sight of your brother. But the past is the past, and I am more concerned with the present. Why are you here?”</p>
<p>
  <em> “Mikey has something to ask of you,” Gerard says. </em>
</p>
<p><em> And Mikey says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“I want to know what I haven’t tried.”</p>
<p><em> Her voice is suddenly cold as she says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“That is an absurd request. Do you even understand the implications of it?”</p>
<p><em> Mikey says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“I do. I know it means asking for information I shouldn’t know, but something has to give. I think this is it.”</p>
<p>
  <em> There is a long moment of silence. </em>
</p>
<p><em> She turns to face Gerard alone and, in a very serious tone, says,<br/>
</em>“You must leave us.”</p>
<p>
  <em> Gerard looks wounded. “Mama—“ </em>
</p>
<p><em> She says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“This is between your brother and I. You cannot stay.”</p>
<p>
  <em> For a long moment, Mikey worries that Gerard won’t consider the notion at all, but he lifts his chin and stares back at Mother War. “You’ll guide him back to his body, won’t you?” </em>
</p>
<p><em> She says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“Of course.”</p>
<p>
  <em> Satisfied, Gerard nods and pats Mikey’s shoulder. “I’ll see you when you come back, Mikes.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Hesitantly, he lets go of Mikey’s hand and instantly begins turning transparent. Within seconds, he disappears into nothing. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Mikey turns back to the goddess of death. </em>
</p>
<p><em> She says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“You have gone through this cycle many times before. Time is yours, but you cannot grasp the rules of it. You are in over your head, as you have always been. You always hope that this will be the last timeline, and it never is. I have long since come to the conclusion that it is not stubbornness on your part; simply a naïveté that comes with the nature of the cycle itself. You perceive every time as your first, and every time, you are only barely able to grasp the concept that your cycle may not be the one to tip the scales. I see no reason to believe this one should be different.”</p>
<p><em> He says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“Have I ever come to you?”</p>
<p><em> She says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“You have tried many times in many ways to deviate from past attempts which you cannot remember. How you do so matters little. Today, you have come to ask for knowledge, but I am not one to give out the universe’s intelligence to anyone who requests it.”</p>
<p><em> He says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“But it’s like you said. I’ve got no clue what I’ve tried in the past. I think that with more insight, I could know how to set things right and stop this fucking loop.”</p>
<p><em> She says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“Why should it end?”</p>
<p><em> And he says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“Because there has to be a way to change it.”</p>
<p><em> And she says, </em> <em><br/>
</em> <b>“Why?”</b></p>
<p><em> And he says, </em> <em><br/>
</em> “Because this is not how it’s supposed to be. I can feel it. It can change; I’m certain. You want it to be fixed too!”</p>
<p><em> And she rushes to him, stands looming over him with her gas mask inches from his face, impossibly intimidating as she says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“You presume to know what I want? I am practically the universe itself. I exist as it lives and dies a trillion times over. I am not a human; I am not even a spirit. I am unknowable. Unfathomable. And you think you understand me?”</p>
<p><em> And he is silent. And then he says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“I don’t need to understand you to show understanding.”</p>
<p>
  <em> And she is silent. She does not back away, but she does go still, and remains quiet. </em>
</p>
<p><em> Mikey says, </em> <em><br/>
</em> “You keep bringing me back. And you do it <em> twice </em> for me. I know you don’t have to, but when Gerard asks you to raise the dead, you do. You break the natural order for him, and you speak with me when I die at the end of humanity. You do these things to intervene. Because you care about humans. All of us, if I had to guess.”</p>
<p>
  <em> The lenses of her gas mask are perpetually foggy, and he’s never been able to see what lays beyond the glass, but he looks anyway. </em>
</p>
<p><em> So he says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“Please. I know we could do so much better.”</p>
<p><em> And she says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“You’re certain that now is the time to end your loop?”</p>
<p><em> And he says, </em> <em><br/>
</em> “Please. I’m <em> tired. </em> Aren’t you?”</p>
<p><em> She sighs. And then, eventually, she says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“A compromise, then. I won’t tell you the past, but I’ll aid you in changing the future. Sound fair?”</p>
<p><em> He’s already breathing easier when he says,<br/>
</em>“Deal.”</p>
<p><em> Her eyes narrow as she says,<br/>
</em>“You will never be able to defeat them without breaking the rules a bit. You’ll need to be smart. And you’ll need to plan in advance for something you won’t have total control over. You will need to trust yourself, and your brothers, and me. You’ll still risk it?”</p>
<p><em> And he swallows, and says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“It’s time to end it. Yes.”</p>
<p><em> Mother War says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“Very well. I’ll impart a warning, a gift, and some guidance as a sign of goodwill. Your warning comes as this: your first and last brothers must be endangered, but not sacrificed. Tread this line carefully, or you will lose both of them for good.”</p>
<p><em> Mikey mumbles, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“A little cryptic.”</p>
<p><em> She leans back and cocks her head, asking, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“Do I hear backtalk?”</p>
<p><em> And he quickly says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“No, Mama. Sorry. ‘Keep an eye on Bob and Brian’. Got it.”</p>
<p><em> And she says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“As for your gift, I will give you designs for new tattoos to be inked into the place of the one you planned to inscribe your cycle’s findings in. You’ll find them in your pocket when you return to yourself.“</p>
<p><em> And he asks, confused, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“Tattoos? Plural?”</p>
<p><em> And she nods, </em> <em><br/>
</em> “One for each of the fabulous killjoys. You must trust that the Cherri Cola of this timeline will follow instructions written not by you, but by <em> me.” </em></p>
<p><em> Dread creeps in, and he can’t help but ask, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“Are you saying there’s no way to stop the Helium Wars?”</p>
<p><em> She says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“I did not say that.”</p>
<p><em> And he says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“But if we’re leaving messages for the apocalypse—“</p>
<p><em> And she says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“The messages are to set up dominoes in a future we will eventually prevent. We still need that future, though, because there is a tool that you misplaced.”</p>
<p><em> And he frowns, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“That I—“</p>
<p>
  <em> She is unreadable. </em>
</p>
<p><em> And he realizes, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“The Girl. We need her.”</p>
<p><em> And she says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“Yes. We do.”</p>
<p><em>And he thinks it over and says,</em><br/>
“Branching the timeline? Won’t that be paradoxical?”</p>
<p><em> And Mother War says,<br/>
</em>“So long as both branches are not required to <em>constantly</em> interact, no. One will borrow from the other and then override it. The entire timeline will fork, but this will only be possible if you have the tools necessary to steer tomorrow’s events in an unlikely direction. Think of probability as wind. The timeline you would like is meant to go straight up, but the winds of fate keep blowing and pushing it off course. You need this skewed timeline to exist behind your ideal one so you can brace against the wind. It’s a wedge, or an anchor, or a support strut. However you’d like to phrase it, this branched timeline is the only plausible way to achieve your goal.”</p>
<p><em> And Mikey frowns and says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“But… Becky. The Director. How am I supposed to find them?”</p>
<p><em> Mother War says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“That is where I intervene, as per my promised guidance. You’ll find signs to lead you in the right direction. Just keep your eyes open.”</p>
<p><em> He tentatively asks, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“… Can you see the future? How it’ll play out?”</p>
<p><em> She says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“I see one timeline at a time. I have gone through many that appear identical. All I know is what I have seen, but from that I believe I understand what needs to change. I would hope that I’m right.”</p>
<p><em> And he says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“Both of us, then. I’ll trust your message to be the one the future needs if you trust my future selves to interpret it.”</p>
<p><em> And Mother War says, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“You’ll need to pick the right moment to find The Girl. Too early and you will change the timeline too radically for her to exist. Too late and you won’t be able to change the timeline at all. There will come a moment when it seems that either might happen. The fork in the road. That is when you need to get her.”</p>
<p><em> Mikey asks, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“Do you think it will work?”</p>
<p><em> And she asks, </em> <em><br/>
</em>“What do we have to lose?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><span>Not featured in this chapter, but happened behind the scenes if you were curious:</span><br/><span>-a conversation about who gets to call the shots, because everyone’s rightfully concerned that Gerard’s war trauma will affect his leadership abilities</span><br/><span>-everyone arguing over how to signal the B Team (answers range from flare guns <strike>which would alert EVERYONE</strike></span><strike><br/></strike> to spy cameras <strike>which definitely cannot send live video digitally without a computer</strike> to pure timing <strike>which is impractical because they literally dont know where theyre going in the first place</strike>)<br/><span>-a scene where room service passes out because they saw a gorilla carrying the body of a teenage boy, and so now Frank has to sit with a fainted cleaning woman in the other room so that he can rumor her to forget (while the entire rest of the family crams into the other room)</span></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Cherry Pit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Friday the 13th!!!!! Friday the 13th!!!! Friday the 13th!!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>10:56 FRIDAY</strong>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>One part of the plan that Mama hadn’t considered (or maybe she just didn’t care about) was that putting tattoos on the future killjoys involved getting Gerard to get a tattoo.</p><p>“You’re such a baby,” Mikey sighs.</p><p>“I hate you. I hate you all. You’re the worst family in the world,” Gerard says.</p><p>“Aww, it’ll be okay, Gerard,” Bob coos. He pats at Gerard’s calf, which looks comical when Gerard is slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. That pose isn’t strictly necessary, but Gerard had been dragging his feet and Bob got tired of it, so here they are. They’re currently walking from the world’s worst taxi drive (which dropped them off at Universal Studios instead of the actual address they asked for) to a pirate-themed tattoo parlor (the only one which had four available artists on a Friday morning). They must make quite the picture as they head down the street.</p><p>“It’s not even your first one,” Mikey says.</p><p>“Shut up, family cult rituals do <b>not</b> count,” Gerard growls.</p><p>“Do you want me to rumor you?” Frank asks. He and Mikey walk behind Bob so that they can look up at Gerard.</p><p>“No!” Gerard scowls, but then he bites his lip and says, “I— well, what do you have in mind?”</p><p>“I heard…” Frank hums, “that you can’t feel your arm. And then after, I’ll reverse it.”</p><p>“It would still be freaky that a <em> needle </em> is going into my <em> skin </em>. Can you hear it? Is a tattoo machine loud? Fuck, I don’t know how this works. Fuck you, Mikey, I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” Gerard hisses.</p><p>“I mean, if you want the world to end, fuck it,” Mikey shrugs.</p><p>Gerard glares at him.</p><p>“Don’t you trust Mama?”</p><p>Gerard lets out an unimpressed grunt and goes limp over Bob’s shoulder.</p><p>“Do we even know what we’re going to use these for?” Frank asks.</p><p>“No,” Mikey says. Technically, that’s not a lie.</p><p>“Do we know what they mean?”</p><p>“Also no.”</p><p>“Then why are we getting them?” Frank asks, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m all for saving the world, but I don’t love the fact that I have to ink over my <em> existing tattoos </em> for a reason I don’t even get to know.”</p><p>“I don’t know why we need them, okay?” Mikey lies. <em> That’s a straight-up lie. 100% false this time. </em> “But this is literally a divine gift, so I’m gonna trust it.”</p><p>Mikey feels… well, kinda bad about how little he’s told his brothers. He hasn’t told them why they need tattoos, only that it’s part of the plan Mother War has. To tell them would mean <em> explaining </em> the timeline branch, and he can’t have them doing anything to intentionally stop that. He needs to cheat the system at the last minute, and make sure that everyone survives to the last minute so he can save them all.</p><p>He needs that timeline branch for a number of reasons too. It’s not just that it’s the best idea that he and Mother War could come up with (even though it is), it’s that there’s already significant evidence that it already has to exist. The Korse from the future, for example. He will live in a future which hasn’t happened yet. Another example: this timeline’s original Mikey. <em> Mikey, </em> the one <em> currently </em> existing and time traveling and trying to save the world, he isn’t from this timeline at all. He’s from the <em> last </em> one; he just hijacked this one in order to better his odds at fixing everything. The Number Five who left this Umbrella Academy in 1996 still has to be sent to 2015. Mikey would rather have that Number Five grow up to be Mike Milligram/Cherri Cola than have him pop up in the mundane future seven years later. Maybe that’s selfish, to banish his alternate self to an apocalypse. Or, maybe that’s self-destruction. The bottom line of it is that there are a lot of loose ends that Mikey knows he can resolve with his current plan, so he’s going to stick with that plan rather than try to patch together a last-minute solution.</p><p><em> (And The Girl. </em> The Girl who is, in all honesty, the tiebreaker in this situation. The only thing that could make him betray his own family is the prospect of saving his family, and he’s greedy, he wants them all to live, he wants that kid back in his life and he wants it so bad he’d risk everything for the chance.)</p><p>And if that means risking his brother’s lives—</p><p>Well. If they live, they’ll forgive him. And if they don’t…</p><p>Mother will make sure the cycle continues.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Just as they enter the shop, the bell attached to the door chimes.</p><p>It’s loud, but not in volume. In clarity. As if it cuts through the air supernaturally, broadcasting its chime directly into Mikey’s head. And it lingers, the way that noises do when you’re in complete silence and any sound seems to hang in the air longer than it ought to. He furrows his brow and looks to Gerard to see what he thinks, but Gerard just walks into the parlor, completely heedless of the odd noise. Which is… weird, because Gerard surely would have noticed--</p><p>And then there’s a <b> <em>THUNK</em> </b> against the window and he flinches hard, snapping his head over to watch a bird flap its wings frantically from the ground, fallen from where it hit the window.</p><p>“Jesus,” Frank exclaims. “How often does that happen?”</p><p>Mikey stares down at the bird as it stumbles upright and flaps its wings, taking to unsteady flight away from the tattoo parlor. It gets about ten feet, and then crash lands, and then takes off again vertically. He’s not sure if it’s alright. Birds are fragile.</p><p>“Penny for your thoughts?” Ray asks, tilting his head at Mikey.</p><p>Mikey shakes his head and peels his eyes from the window. “I’m thinkin’ that seems like bad luck. And I think Mother’s starting on the omens she promised me.”</p><p>“Hey, good morning! Welcome,” an employee says as she arrives at the front desk.</p><p>Mikey sends a glance back at where the bird hit the window and decides to let it go for now.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“He’s a minor,” the clerk says, sighing at the group of them.</p><p>“Look, I’m his brother. I have legal custody,” Gerard argues.</p><p>“Yeah, I get that, but it’s a misdemeanor to tattoo a minor in the state of California,” the woman says.</p><p>This conversation is going nowhere fast.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” the clerk shrugs. “This is a law-abiding tattoo parlor.”</p><p>“What if I <em> wasn’t </em> a minor?” Mikey asks.</p><p>The clerk stares at him with the sort of expression one gets when they hear an underwhelming joke. “Alright. I’m going to go call in the artists for those of you who are <em> actually </em> getting tattooed today. We’ll get your stencils and get started,” she says before walking off.</p><p>Mikey flinches as someone smacks him over the head. He scowls and glares up at Ray. “What the fuck, dude?!”</p><p>“Don’t turn this on me. We’re lucky she didn’t take you seriously. Were you really going to explain your time travel situation to a civilian?” Ray asks. “That’s a long story to explain to an uninvolved civilian, dude.”</p><p>“Does it matter? I need this fucking tattoo,” Mikey huffs.</p><p>“I think there’s gotta be a smarter way to go about it,” Ray says. And then he glances to the side and then drops his gaze and scratches his head shyly.</p><p>“If you’ve got something to say, then <em> say it,” </em> Frank demands.</p><p>“Okay, fine. I think that this would be easiest if you rumored the staff,” Ray says. “It’s one exception, and it’s not like we’re not going to pay them anyway, and it’s for a good reason. I don’t see why we shouldn’t.”</p><p>“Because you’re asking me to <em> force </em> someone to break the law,” Frank says.</p><p>“We literally grew up killing people, Frank. You’re gonna draw the line at a misdemeanor?”</p><p>“You realize that we have until six PM, right? There’s other tattoo artists in LA,” Frank says.</p><p>“Six is when the next nuclear holocaust starts, not an abstract deadline,” Ray shoots back.</p><p>“Okay, okay, chill,” Gerard says. “Let’s talk about this. Mikey. What are your thoughts?”</p><p>Mikey glances down, thinking. “This is trivial bullshit. I think it would be a waste of time to find another parlor to do this illegally.”</p><p>“Bob?” Gerard asks.</p><p>“I think we should trust Frank’s judgement,” Bob says. “He’s right. His power leads to tough calls. He should only have to change a civilian’s will when it’s a life-or-death situation.”</p><p>“I’d agree, normally,” Ray interjects. “And a tattoo isn’t the end of the world, except for the fact that in this specific scenario, <em> it literally might be.” </em></p><p>“Split vote,” Mikey says quickly, trying to move things along. “Up to you, Gerard.”</p><p>Gerard hums and nods. “Yeah. Alright. Here’s what I think; it’s a close call, and Frank’s not completely opposed anyway.”</p><p>Frank seems surprised by this.</p><p>“What? I know you. You’re just worried that if you use rumors for small things, it’ll be harder to go back to not using them at all. And if that’s your concern, I’m pretty sure that your gut reaction against this is enough to prove that you’re not the type of person who would take that advantage on a regular basis. You’re worrying about nothing, and you know that Ray makes a good point,” Gerard shrugs.</p><p>“Alright,” the clerk says, walking back up to them. “We’ll get you set up—”</p><p><em> “I heard a rumor that you let Mikey get his tattoos,” </em> Frank interjects.</p><p>“That solves that,” Bob mutters.</p><p>The clerk’s eyes slowly clear, and she flicks her gaze over all of them before nodding slowly and waving for them to follow her.</p><p>“Thanks,” Mikey says quietly.</p><p>“Yeah, sure. Don’t mention it,” Frank says shortly.</p><p>It leaves a bad taste in his mouth; he doesn’t want his brothers angry with him now, not when they’ll have much more reason to hate him by tonight.</p><p>But there’s nothing to say, so he lets it go.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>His tattoo artist doesn’t ask any questions that don’t directly pertain to the job at hand.</p><p>They ask a few things, of course. <em> “What size? Pure black? Do you want that to cover up the entire area or just shade in the blank spots?” </em></p><p>They do not ask what Mikey was expecting. <em> “Did your last artist get a few pixels wrong? What’s in the code? Is there a story behind all this?” </em></p><p>As soon as they get the stencil done and place it over Mikey’s arm, they just confirm that it really is what he wants, and then they start up their gun and begin inking.</p><p>Mikey is inextricably relieved at that. This is pretty much exactly what he wanted. Amicable silence. He can only imagine how uncomfortable it would have been to get a nosy artist or - Witch fucking forbid - an Umbrella Academy fan. It’s not completely silent, either; his brothers are sitting feet away from him, all in a line getting their own tattoos and chattering about this and that, but he stays silent, wondering why he feels so apathetic to this artist who’s done nothing but respect his boundaries.</p><p>It's possible that he's being pretentious, or narrow-minded, but he can’t get it out of his head that these people don’t matter. These artists. The taxi driver. The motel employees. There’s a disconnect in his mind between pre-war civilians and post-war ones. In the Better Living apocalypse, every deadface ritalin rat and bleached streetwalker was someone being intentionally controlled. Every BLI employee was a direct slave to the machine. Every juvie hall and every killjoy spent their lives sticking it to the businessmen. Victim or rebel. They <em> mattered. </em> And these people… comparatively, he doesn’t think they do.</p><p>Not that… he sighs to himself, backtracking in his thought process as he watches ink be injected deep into his skin. It’s not that they don’t matter. They’ve all got lives. But their lives seem static - <em> trivial </em> - in comparison to the world he’s used to.</p><p>Or maybe, he thinks to himself, they don’t <em> have </em> to matter. That’s probably it. During the apocalypse, he felt a sense of duty towards the people because they were suffering from something he could prevent. Whether they knew it or not, he had wronged them by failing to save the world in his previous timeline. He had a responsibility to those survivors. But if he really does fix things and stop the destruction of the world, he’ll break even. All debts settled, even if they’re none the wiser.</p><p>Every once in a while his artist wipes away the excess ink from his arm, and it tugs the skin, and it kinda stings when they do so. </p><p>He probably would have let the world burn if doing so wouldn’t destroy his family too. He is lucky that the situation doesn’t make him choose, because he would choose wrong, and he would live with the guilt if it meant his brothers would be okay.</p><p>But that’s not a choice he’ll ever have. A future where Better Living goes unchecked will never be safe for anyone.</p><p>Mikey thinks that he’s lucky that he doesn’t have to choose.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Before they even get the chance to leave the parlor, Gerard fields a call from Brian.</p><p>“Would he need to…? Great. In that case I think that’d work perfectly. We’re… yeah, like I said, we’re about to head out anyway. Text me the address? Alright. So should I send Mikes home or… uh, I agree. He needs to find something he’ll wear… Yeah, that tracks. Okay… see you there,” Gerard says. He pulls the phone away from his ear and taps on it before shoving it in his pocket and turning back to the group (sans Frank, who’s finalizing the rumors he needs to place on the employees).</p><p>“What’s that about?” Bob asks.</p><p>“Change of plans,” Gerard says. “We’re going shopping.”</p><p>Mikey scowls. “What? The clock is ticking. We don’t have time--”</p><p>“I know. And Brian knows. This is important. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but we aren’t exactly dressed in business casual,” Gerard says, waving at Bob’s hoodie and then at Ray’s band t-shirt. “We’re getting clothes at some mall in Burbank, and you’re coming.”</p><p>He furrows his brows.</p><p>“New plan for how to convey a signal,” Gerard says. “We’ll pick a few buildings and a time before the four of us leave. Once the four of us get through security, I’ll try to get to one of the meeting points. Then, at the time, you teleport between them until you find me. There, you hand me a phone, and I’ll call you when things get dicey. Sound good?”</p><p>“Why do I need clothes to teleport around?”</p><p>“Because you’re wearing an Umbrella Academy uniform, and if anyone from Better Living sees you as they pass by, they’ll probably recall that as a group, our one goal was stopping people like them,” Gerard says flatly.</p><p>Though he purses his lips, he can see the logic in that. “If I’m supposed to be teleporting places I’ve never been, I’ll need--”</p><p>“Floor plans for the exact dimensions, yeah. He already called Worm. He and Christa are looking it all up now,” Gerard nods.</p><p>Mikey blinks in surprise. “Oh. Cool.”</p><p>“We’ve got you covered, Mikey,” Gerard says gently. “Now, come on. Shopping isn’t the worst thing that you’ll have to do today."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Though probably not the absolute worst, shopping turns out to be significantly more dangerous than anyone expected. They discover this when guns start firing across the department store.</p><p>Mikey jumps at the noise, and dashes for Brian. They both crash to the floor when Mikey tackles him. The whole place is screaming, and for good reason, because it’s a Friday afternoon and none of these LA mall shoppers are remotely calm in the face of automatic guns. Mikey quickly glances around for his other brothers. Gerard has pulled Frank behind the wall of the changing room and Ray and Bob have both dropped to the ground much like Mikey and Brian have. Everyone seems fine except for Bob, who is pressing a hand to his left shoulder.</p><p>“Bob?” Mikey whisper-shouts.</p><p>“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Bob says. “I heal fast these days.”</p><p>“Fucking hell,” he mumbles.</p><p>“Better Living?” Brian whispers.</p><p>Mikey takes a moment to rise to a crouch and glance around the clothing rack between them and the origin of the gunfire. White suits, no masks, but he catches sight of a bald head before he draws back into cover. “No. Just Korse and his survivors.”</p><p>“Should we run?” Ray asks.</p><p>“They’ll just shoot civilians trying to put a bullet in us,” Brian says.</p><p>“How the fuck did they find us?” Bob asks.</p><p>“Doesn’t matter. We can take them head-on,” Frank hisses.</p><p><em> “No,” </em> Mikey and Gerard say at the same time.</p><p>Mikey looks up at Gerard.</p><p>The screams and panic of the shoppers have grown distant as all the bystanders (and probably shop employees) clear from the building. All that’s left is an eerie quiet. Gerard grits his teeth, but he meets Mikey’s eye. “We can’t spread the fight out. Go get ‘em, Mikes.”</p><p>He nods and jumps to the far side of the department store.</p><p>The white suits are a glaring mistake on their part. Mikey can spot all of them instantly as they sweep down the store in a line. About fifteen men by his count. He looks to his left to find the furthest one, and then teleports right above that one, landing on his back and tossing him to the ground. They grapple for a moment before Mikey wrangles the ‘crow’s submachine gun into his hands. He plants a foot into the man’s side, shoves him back as far as possible, and shoots him in the chest.</p><p>Then, as soon as he can, he teleports across the store to the other side of the line. He raises his gun and lines up a shot, and then holds down the trigger. White jackets turn red as they’re shot in the back, but bullets volley back his way nearly instantly.</p><p>Mikey bites out a curse and teleports towards the back of the store. If they’re gonna shoot at him, he may as well stay away from his brothers. In his head, he does a tally. His first takedown is certain. He hit at least five with that last move, but he’s not sure how many are dead or just injured. That leaves… shit, a lot. But he can handle it.</p><p>He takes a deep breath. He’s got this.</p><p>Over the next few minutes, he becomes more reserved with his bullets. The scarecrows wisen up and scatter, hiding along the clothing racks and searching for Mikey as they go. Mikey makes sure to stay away from the changing rooms so as not to draw fire towards his brothers. However, his concern doesn’t let him ignore that area entirely, and he ends up focusing his attacks on those who stray too close to the hiding spot. He hopes he keeps them away from his family, though he’s not completely sure. It’s hard to tell who’s dead and who’s pretending, but there’s undeniable progress being made whenever he shoots someone in the forehead.</p><p>And then… the gunfire peters out.</p><p>Gritting his teeth, he calms himself and works out a plan. Teleportation is surprisingly easy now; he supposes that now that he’s capable of long-distance teleporting with assorted passengers, teleporting a few feet alone is small potatoes. Nonetheless, once there’s nobody shooting at him, he carefully walks through the store on foot to make sure he doesn’t accidentally teleport himself into a flanked position. Every time he comes across a body, he makes sure they’re dead and takes the gun. He has seven guns slung over his shoulder by the time he walks up to his brothers.</p><p>“Everyone okay?” Mikey asks.</p><p>“All safe,” Gerard says in a hushed tone. “You get them all?”</p><p>“I don’t think so. I hit a lot of them, but I know I didn’t get Korse,” Mikey says. He drops the guns. “Help me sweep the shop?”</p><p>“Yeah, of course,” Frank says.</p><p>They all move forward and pluck guns from the pile, Gerard included. His face looks stony as he does so, but when he sees that Mikey is staring at him, he just nods. Mikey decides to let it go. </p><p>“Careful everyone,” Gerard says. “Guns up. No checking for pulses, just make sure they’re dead and move on.”</p><p>“Take their guns if you come across a new body,” Mikey adds. “Once we have fifteen, they’ll all be accounted for.”</p><p>“Okay,” Gerard says, and then he begins moving.</p><p>Mikey feels a bit odd, moving in formation after decades of going at things alone, but this is what he asked for. He walks down the middle aisle, straight towards the opposite wall, keeping his eyes peeled for movement. After a few seconds, he comes across a body shot in the shoulder and hemorrhaging out on the floor, face down. With little hesitation, Mikey kicks at the man’s injured shoulder, but the guy has no reaction, and he seems to not be breathing. Mikey takes the gun and keeps walking.</p><p>He just catches a glimpse of another white suit on the ground when he hears a yell and an impact.</p><p>“Fuck off!” Gerard’s voice snarls.</p><p>“Gee?!” Mikey shouts, and he sets off running through the aisles.</p><p>He can see Korse, holding Gerard at arm’s length with one hand and raising his pistol in the other. Gerard does-- something?-- and Korse reels back. Mikey lifts his gun and shoots, but it only fires twice before it clicks. Empty. And <em> fuck, </em> he missed both of his shots. He flips the gun in his hands as he rushes forward to close the gap, and swings the gun by the muzzle like a baseball bat. The butt of it catches Korse’s temple and sends him sprawling to the ground, face-down.</p><p>“Gerard—?” Mikey gasps out.</p><p>“Fine,” Gerard pants.</p><p>Mikey wastes no words or time, he just takes Gerard’s gun from his limp grasp and points it down at Korse, who scrambles backwards on his elbows. “That’s right. Crawl, motherfucker,” Mikey growls.</p><p>Korse looks up with fury in his eyes, but he keeps moving backwards as Mikey takes his aim.</p><p>And then, he bumps into a clothing rack, and a white shirt falls off it’s hangar and lands on… on Korse’s briefcase.</p><p>Mikey freezes.</p><p>He blinks. <em> White… white cloth. Falling on Korse’s only escape route. Like a white flag. A white flag showing up as he retreats. How likely is that? </em></p><p>He feels Korse’s eyes on him, and Gerard’s, and the world seems to hold its breath.</p><p>“Fuck, <em> really </em> , Mama?” Mikey whispers. <em> “Him?” </em></p><p>There is no answer.</p><p>Mikey lets out a shaky breath and adjusts his grip on Gerard’s gun. “You’ve got no idea how bad I want you dead.”</p><p>Korse blinks at him. Probably confused (and rightly so, because by all means, Mikey <em> should </em> have killed him by now). And people like him will never understand concepts like mercy. All Korse understands is the bad imitation of mercy that he’s used to; the kind where you let someone go so they can fear you until you hunt them down again. The idea of letting someone go without the intention to make it a game of cat-and-mouse is probably beyond him. And yet.</p><p>
  <em> … and yet. </em>
</p><p>This is, presumably, the first timeline in which Korse has ever been sent after him. That can’t be arbitrary. If Mikey and Mama are trying to create an optimal apocalypse timeline branch, maybe Korse was sent for a reason. Maybe this is another piece of the puzzle that needs to be kept in place.</p><p>“Go,” he whispers.</p><p>“What?” Korse snarls.</p><p>“Your briefcase is right there,” Mikey says, tilting his head towards it. Korse looks over to it, but snaps his gaze nervously back at Mikey. “Go back to 2020. You have a life there, right? Don’t you have something to go home to? Someone?”</p><p>Korse glares at him, the fire in his eyes renewed.</p><p>“Leave,” Mikey demands. <em> “Leave.” </em></p><p>“I’ll kill you all,” Korse growls.</p><p>“You already have. What more do you want?” Mikey whispers. “It’s already in your history. Don’t you get that we have to survive now so you can kill us later?”</p><p>Korse looks a little stunned at that. It occurs to Mikey that Korse never had the drive to question his orders at all.</p><p>“You came here to stop us from changing your history, but if you kill us now, you fuck that up anyway,” Mikey says. “We’re going to die. Just let us have some peace in the time we have together. Modern B.L.I. will take care of the rest. Just… just go home.”</p><p>There’s a long moment. And then Korse reaches out his hand to grab the handle of the briefcase. Slowly, he drags it closer. “You can’t change anything.”</p><p>And Korse launches forward in time in a brilliant flash of blue.</p><p>And he’s gone.</p><p>Mikey drops his gun. “I think I just did.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> Gerard saw. </em>
</p><p>Gerard watched him let Korse escape, but he didn’t say anything, and Mikey just met his eyes and when the others showed up, Mikey said “<em>Korse got away” </em> and they all nodded in understanding because they trusted his word all except for Gerard who looked away and <em> didn’t say anything. </em></p><p>Somehow, they managed to get away before the police arrived. This was possible for a few reasons.</p><p><em> One, </em> all civilian witnesses left before Mikey started his retaliation.</p><p><em> Two, </em> Mikey was the only one who had blood splatters on his clothes.</p><p><em> Three, </em> Mikey can teleport.</p><p><em> Four, </em> Mikey can take the guns that have his sibling’s fingerprints.</p><p><em> Five, </em> investigations typically take longer than a few hours.</p><p>Mikey got back to the motel nearly instantaneously while his brothers took a taxi to another department store.</p><p>“Are you sure you got away?” Mikey asks into his phone’s receiver.</p><p>“Hard to say,” Ray’s voice answers. “After all, it’s nearly impossible to know what they know before it’s public knowledge.”</p><p>“Doesn’t it take time for the cops to get security footage?” Mikey asks, turning to look at Christa. Her lips draw tight and she lifts a hand to make a ‘kinda’ motion with it. “Shit. Well, the footage would show that they started it, right?”</p><p>“The issue isn’t that we’re in trouble, it’s that we’re <em> noticed,” </em> Ray says quietly. He’s in a taxi right now, and the others are audibly chatting loudly in the background to let Ray’s phone call go unheard by the driver. “If Better Living notices we’re in LA--”</p><p>“They’ll know we’re not here by coincidence.”</p><p>“Today is the day they’ve been planning for. They won’t want any problems to crop up.”</p><p>Mikey takes a deep breath. “What are the chances that the cops go public with it in the next few hours?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s very likely. Brian’s debating whether to call the LAPD himself to explain,” Ray says.</p><p>“Debating?”</p><p>“Well, if Better Living has people inside the police force…”</p><p>“Fuck,” Mikey whispers.</p><p>“We can’t necessarily trust the police to handle it with discretion. Let alone the fact that we did take evidence from the scene. Or, you did. You’re the one who did all the murder and evidence tampering, technically,” Ray says.</p><p>“Thanks for telling me. I hadn’t noticed,” Mikey says flatly.</p><p>“I didn’t mean--”</p><p>“Yeah. I know,” Mikey sighs. “We’ll deal with my legal offenses once we make sure there’s still a legal system in place to prosecute me. In the meantime, we have to make sure B.L.I. doesn’t see us coming a mile away. Does Brian have any plan for that?”</p><p>There’s a pause. “Honestly? No.”</p><p>Mikey swallows hard.</p><p>“Hey-- hey, it’ll be alright.”</p><p>“What, I’m just supposed to trust that fate has my back for that?” Mikey asks.</p><p>“Well… hey, Mother War was supposed to be giving you omens today, right?”</p><p>“Yeah?” Mikey answers.</p><p>“Then why not ask for one?”</p><p>“What the fuck does that mean?”</p><p>“I mean you’re in a motel. Haven’t you ever heard that thing about bibles? They say that if you open a bible to a random page, the first sentence your eyes fall on is what Jesus wants you to read,” Ray explains.</p><p>“That’s complete bullshit. How would that ever be remotely trustworthy?”</p><p>“You say this like you haven’t been trusting the embodiment of death to send you spiritual symbols all day. It’s <em> divination.” </em></p><p>Mikey blinks, and then glances over at the nearest nightstand. “Good point.”</p><p>“Okay, then there you go. Give it a few shots. See what the future holds or whatever. We’ll pick up your clothes and see you in a few. Love you, Mikey.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mikey says, and then he hangs up and stands.</p><p>“What did they have to say?” Worm asks.</p><p>“They’re going to another store. They’ll be back soon,” Mikey says as he pulls open the drawer to the nightstand and lays his eyes on the dark red-brown leather of a holy bible.</p><p>“You know you need to take a shower to get the blood out of your hair, right?” Worm asks.</p><p>“In a minute.”</p><p>The bible is light in his hands; lighter than he’d expected. The pages feel thin and soft under his fingers.</p><p>“Hey Worm, if I were to get cryptic advice from a questionable source, how many times should I check it?” Mikey asks.</p><p>“Uh. What?” Worm asks.</p><p>“I’m trying a thing. How many pieces of advice should I look for?”</p><p>“Oh. Uh, well, I guess three? Third time’s the charm or whatever.”</p><p>Mikey nods and looks at his book doubtfully. Logically, the words on each page of this are already written, and if he chooses which part of the page to look at before he opens it, and if he chooses which part of the bible to open to, it’s not random at all. There is a set of words that will be there, and they won’t just be… randomly generated, or something. This should all be bullshit.</p><p>But here he is.</p><p>“Okay, Mama,” Mikey says. “Let’s try an easy question first. What do we do about the cops?” Carefully, his finger picks a place less than a fourth of the way into the book and opens it there, searching the right side of the right page.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>So the</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>inhabitants of Jabesh said, “Tomorrow we will</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>give ourselves up to you, and you may do to us</b>
  </p>
  <p><b>whatever seems good to you.”</b> <b></b></p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>“Holy shit, I’m onto something,” Mikey mutters.</p><p>He peers at the lines before it, but they talk about messengers and oxen and some very angry king. Not very relevant, but Mikey stops himself from overthinking. He doesn’t need to do a literary analysis of the whole Samuel section of the bible in order to follow the superstition. All he needs is the passage he first saw. And what he got was fairly clear. <em>Time to raise the stakes,</em> he supposes.</p><p>“I know we have to let things line up, Mama. In order for the apocalypse to happen, some of us need to— to be put in potentially-lethal danger, so that their death is a possibility. I understood your warning. But could I just <em>tell</em> them? Is it possible that they could understand and go along with it anyway?” He reaches again for a point towards the beginning, opens it, and looks towards the middle of a paragraph on the right page.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>On the fourth day they said</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>to Samson’s bride, “Trick</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>your husband into</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>giving the solution to the riddle;</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>if you refuse, we will burn up you</b>
  </p>
  <p><b>and your father’s family.</b> <b></b></p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>“Okay,” he whispers. “... Okay.”</p><p>Last question. Well, last by the arbitrary rules he made up, but all of this is fucking arbitrary and unscientific, and he’s placing his bets on godly intervention anyway, so whatever. He just feels like he has to make this count. Ask something really important; something that he needs to know.</p><p>He lowers his voice. “How will I know when to go for The Girl? How do I make sure I don’t miss the window?” One last time, he reaches back further in the book to a later section and glances down at the bottom corner of the left page.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <b>He saw that there was no one,</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>and was appalled that there was no</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>one to intervene;</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>so his own arm brought him victory,</b>
  </p>
  <p>
    <b>and his righteous acts upheld him.</b>
  </p>
</blockquote>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><span>Part of me wishes I could go into the complexities of Korse and his place as a queer character who’s also a victim of childhood abuse, and how that </span><br/>  <b>had</b><br/>  <span> to have made him seem (to his family) like a double-freak in this AU where he’s a miracle kid too. The other part of me thinks that if Korse would totally be one of those cis white gays who thinks that </span><br/>  <em><br/>    <span>the neo-nazi movement isn’t such a bad idea, actually.</span><br/>  </em></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Bullet-Proof Faces</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A lot of inspiration was taken from superhero movies, action movies, and video games for these action scenes. Obviously I can’t describe sick moves in detail or it would feel like fights last forever from a reader’s perspective, but I tried to describe enough to let you fill in the gaps for yourself. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>16:15 FRIDAY</strong>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>It’s his third sweep when Mikey finally runs into Gerard.</p>
<p>He’s doing his rounds, resenting how agitating it is to just pop in and out over long distances (7,556 meters southwest, check, 1,348 meters northeast, check, 749 meters north, check, return to motel) when he catches a glimpse of his brother at the middle stop. Gerard has his arms crossed, leaning against the wall next to the bathroom entrance, peering into the glazed glass window as if he could see someone approaching from a distance through it if he just squints hard enough. He moves quickly as soon as he hears the <em> fwwp </em> of Mikey’s arrival, though.</p>
<p>“Mikes,” Gerard says, moving forward. “Sorry I’m late. Run into any trouble?”</p>
<p>“A little,” Mikey shrugs. “It’s taken care of.”</p>
<p>Gerard pulls a face which can approximately be interpreted as a handful of question marks.</p>
<p>“Okay, so <em> ‘it’ </em> is a <em> ‘he’ </em>, and he’s tied up in the closet, but that’s temporary at best,” Mikey admits. “We’ll let the guy go after we save the world. Your turn. What’s up?”</p>
<p>Gerard huffs but nods. “We’re in, blending, all that jazz. Slight problem, though. I got separated from the others when I came here.”</p>
<p>“Do you know where they were going?” Mikey asks. He fishes around in his pocket until he finds Gerard’s phone, and then he hands it back to its rightful owner.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Dodger Stadium. I’ll catch up with them there,” Gerard says.</p>
<p>“A stadium?” Mikey mumbles.</p>
<p>“They’re directing tons of B.L.I. employees there,” Gerard says. “Maybe not all, but a fuck ton. Thousands. Orientation or commencement or something. They don’t know. None of these people know why they’re here. They think it’s just some company event, they don’t know about…” Gerard sighs out a breath. “There are way too many to take on. We’ll have to figure out who was guilty later, but we can’t fight our way through innocents to get there.”</p>
<p>Mikey presses his lips together. “Okay. Okay, fine, just… Keep that phone out of sight until you need to contact us.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, of—” Gerard freezes and whips his head back to the bathroom door. “Someone’s coming.”</p>
<p>“Be safe,” Mikey mutters, and then steps past Gerard to walk out of the door. <em> This is the… the middle stop, </em> he recalls, <em> and their meeting places had been a trade college, and then a job center, and then an LA Fitness. </em> He slides outside and puts on an adequately bored face to match what an inconvenienced teenager would look like, and then he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his new skinny jeans and walks outside.</p>
<p>The approaching guy barely looks twice at him.</p>
<p>Once the bathroom door opens and closes behind him, he sighs and begins looking up at the ceiling. One security camera, then two, and no good place to disappear. Instead of trying to teleport in a camera’s blind spot he follows the emergency exit signs until he finds the lobby and steps outside.</p>
<p>From there, it’s easy to slide into an alleyway without cameras and teleport away.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Half an hour passes as slow as molasses. Mikey tunes out the ticking of the clock on the wall by pacing back and forth and back and forth. Worm tells him to stop every five minutes, and he never listens. Christa redresses the gauze for her bullet wound, and then does the same for Bob’s when it becomes clear that he can’t reach behind his own back.</p>
<p>“Has anybody asked you how you’re doing?” Bob asks.</p>
<p>“Me?” Christa asks.</p>
<p>“Well, yeah,” Bob says. “I mean, I was under the impression that everyone just assumed you were coming once you heard what was going on.”</p>
<p>Mikey winces. He was one of those people, admittedly.</p>
<p>“That’s true, I suppose,” Christa says.</p>
<p>“So how are you? We grew up with this sort of high-stakes adventure, but I imagine the police do things differently.”</p>
<p>“It’s the same principle. When the public is endangered, we are expected to respond. So are you, in a way,” Christa explains. “Usually we have a little more… <em> structure, </em> but the general concepts are similar. Sometimes hard decisions need to be made so that life can be preserved. Sometimes that calls for lethal force.”</p>
<p>“So you’re okay with this?”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” Christa asks as she steps back from her patchwork first-aid.</p>
<p>Bob shifts, rolling his shoulder. “I mean that we don’t have the time or resources for non-lethal measures. When we run into guards, they’re going to shoot us, and we’re going to shoot back. That’s not very legal, and it’s definitely not moral.”</p>
<p>Mikey looks up from his pacing just in time for Christa to look over at him. “Stopping them is worth any cost, right?” Christa asks.</p>
<p>Mikey swallows. “I’m not sure about <em> any </em> cost. I’d have to run the metaphorical numbers on that. But a handful of crossfire deaths… definitely. We’re talking about an extinction-level event.”</p>
<p>“There you have it, then. We could sit here and squabble about if it’s right of us to use lethal force, but the odds are stacked against us, and the stakes are too high to handicap ourselves,” Christa says definitively. “We’ll turn ourselves in if we survive. Until then, I’m ready to do what it takes.”</p>
<p>“Good,” Mikey says simply.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Gerard calls.</p>
<p>Mikey answers.</p>
<p>“Mikes,” Gerard says.</p>
<p>“D’you need backup?” Mikey asks.</p>
<p>“No— no. Cover is intact. For a while, at least. Put me on speaker,” Gerard says.</p>
<p>Mikey does. “Everyone’s listening.”</p>
<p>“We got the first Director. She was here, in the stadium. The whole place has been converted, they’ve set up, like, a bougie tent city out here,” Gerard says. “Lots of office worker-types, not a lot of labor. My guess is they know they’ll get refugees begging for work soon enough.</p>
<p>“Meanwhile the security’s… it’s heavy but concentrated in patrols. They weren’t expecting anyone to slip in who wasn’t meant to. Frank rumored a patrol and we got to the Director before she could raise the alarm for backup to swarm us. She’s dead now. That still doesn’t mean… well, we’re trying to get all the information we can and get out before someone catches wind of all this anyway. We’re sure they’ll be doing regular check-ins and once this Director misses hers, they’ll be onto us.</p>
<p>“We’ve got a lot of bodies, too, but we’re clean. That’s the good news. The bad news is that questioning didn’t work. No clue where Becky is or how many Directors are out there. The ones we kept alive dodged everything we asked, and we didn’t have the time to grill them, so we just offed them. All we got is that the other Directors are further south. Brain’s grabbing what he can from the computer they had running, but after that we’re flying blind. And like I said, patrols are going to notice all the dead people soon, so we need to get out fast.”</p>
<p>“So what’s the working plan?” Mikey asks.</p>
<p>“Right now?” Gerard asks. “Get out before the next patrol guns us down.”</p>
<p>“That’s a battle plan for you guys,” Bob says sharply. “What’s <em> our </em> strategy?”</p>
<p>“Uh…”</p>
<p>The phone pauses, and then there’s a static-y shuffle, and then a grunt, and Brian’s voice says, “hey. Current plan is to get out of the stadium - which is very difficult, please understand that - and then meet up with you on the street. It’s inevitable that our cover will be blown once they find this dead Director, I just don’t want to be trapped when they do. Once we’re on the street, Gee will call again.”</p>
<p>“That’s all?” Mikey asks.</p>
<p>“Yes, that’s all,” Brian says plainly. “Be ready to come to us.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Mikey checks the guns in the bag, and then checks them again, and then checks them again. Worm checks through all the news from downtown LA today. Bob stretches like he’s about to do a run or a workout. Christa downs a small handful of painkillers.</p>
<p>At the fifteen minute mark, Mikey’s phone buzzes.</p>
<p>“Hey,” he says, answering it and signalling to Worm, who quickly begins typing at his computer. He throws it on speakerphone again too, obviously.</p>
<p>“We’re out,” Gerard says. “Ready?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, where are you?”</p>
<p>“The bend of— of Figueroa drive, on the northeast bend,” Gerard says.</p>
<p>Worm, having heard this, quickly finds it and measures the distance. “Three thousand, nine hundred and ninety four meters west with a slight south angle. Do you see it?”</p>
<p>“I see it,” Mikey says, memorizing the angle on Worm’s screen. He raises his eyes. “Let’s go.”</p>
<p>Bob grabs the bags of weapons over his good shoulders as he stands, and he and Christa are on top of him in seconds. They all reach out for his shoulders, and once they make contact, he warps space around them.</p>
<p>The other four are suddenly a couple dozen feet away, but they hurry over before Mikey even opens his mouth to call out.</p>
<p>“Get us away from the stadium,” Gerard says as they get within range. “Like, now.”</p>
<p>He grabs Bob’s arm and everyone links up, connecting to someone who’s touching Mikey, and Mikey runs a calculation in his head and teleports them 1,838 meters southwest to a park that Worm had showed him when they were going over which places in LA were least likely to get them run over if they mass-teleported.</p>
<p>The area isn’t too crowded (only a couple of bystanders notice their sudden appearance), but nobody wastes time. Bob drops his bags and unzips them, starting to hand out guns. Frank runs his mouth, explaining their escape and how it was successful but probably won’t remain undetected. Brian estimates a response time, and Worm asks if they could keep their voices down, and Gerard turns and tells nearest staring civilian to fuck off, and Christa asks what the plan is if police come after them, and Mikey's heedless of it all.</p>
<p>Instead, Mikey’s staring at the sky.</p>
<p>Because against the blue sky, a flock of black birds is circling above the trees in what appears to be a perfect circle.</p>
<p>“Hey,” someone says, and he turns to Frank, who slaps a pistol - the semi-automatic that he bought - into his hand. “We need to go.”</p>
<p>The flock of birds diverge from their circular path and spiral down, curving inwards just enough to be flying directly for them. Frank staggers a few steps back, but Mikey just watches in awe as a hundred ravens land harmlessly, ten feet dead ahead. His brothers go silent behind him. They all watch.</p>
<p>“Do you know where Becky is?” Mikey asks. </p>
<p>The bird closest to him flaps its wings and caws loudly, chirruping.</p>
<p>“We’ll follow,” Mikey says. The birds take flight, and Mikey turns his head back to the group. “Everything else can wait. We’re going after Becky.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p><br/>New Downtown is in gridlock, but that’s okay. Mikey has his eyes on the flock, which swoops down the streets, heading south towards the Financial District.</p>
<p>Somewhere in his head, he is cognizant of the fact that he and his brothers are wielding firearms in broad daylight as they march down the sidewalk, but it seems like a minor detail. People get out of their way. Nobody runs up to them to try and stop whatever they’re doing. For a couple of minutes, they are invincible.</p>
<p>And then, they are crossing their first crosswalk along the leftward curve of the road when he hears the familiar <em> zak-PEW </em> of a raygun firing at them. Mikey breaks out of his trance in such a daze that it takes him a couple seconds to realize he’s already shooting back.</p>
<p>It’s a transport van, white with a B.L.I. logo on it, containing bulletproof vest-clad guards who shoot at them.</p>
<p>Mikey gets one in the head, and another, and then Worm puts an arm around him and drags him behind a tall Ford that idles next to the crosswalk.</p>
<p>“Don’t get yourself killed,” Worm says.</p>
<p>“But they—”</p>
<p>“Watch.”</p>
<p>But he watches Bob rip the street sign from the ground and hurl it like a javelin through the driver’s side window of the van, and Ray tosses a knife straight up and then stands only to aim it’s downward arc at a skull, and Gerard reaches out with a hand and clenches it and a number of ethereal corpses restrain the last remaining guard so that they can rip his jaw clean off his face (and by clean, Mikey means that blood splatters ten feet away).</p>
<p>“Holy shit,” Mikey says in awe.</p>
<p>“You’re not the only one here,” Worm promises.</p>
<p>“Let’s move! Mikey, get your head out of the clouds. I need you on the offensive,” Gerard commands. He picks up a raygun from a body as he goes, and Frank pauses to grab the other ones and stuff them in the duffle bag Bob has slung across his back. It’s like they’re a real team again.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The heavy traffic works in their favor. It means that mobilizing units to attack them is difficult, so their only pursuers are on foot, and their only obstacles are patrol cars that got stuck in traffic ahead of them.</p>
<p>Mikey teleports about. With their cover blown, there’s no way B.L.I. doesn’t know exactly who they are anyway. He uses this to his advantage. He’s constantly making small nearly-effortless jumps to the tops of various cars in the traffic jam so that he can identify where B.L.I. guards will be coming from. Some make straight for the group, and others try to take cover and wait for their approach, but Mikey spots them all and teleports back to Gerard to report it, and he makes the calls. Ray takes nearly all of the ones that wait to ambush the Academy, because his ability to curve his projectiles is invaluable for minimizing risk to civilians. Then, once they’re dead, he can take the knives back as they pass. Meanwhile, Brian takes their long-distant pursuers out with his sniper rifle. Not many get close enough for Bob or Worm to fight, but Christa takes care of the mid-range enemies.</p>
<p>It would be nice if there was no collateral damage, but nothing is perfect. Some of the innocents who run away before the Academy cross their path do actually get away unharmed. Unfortunately, there are also those who wait to make their escape, and they only get in Better Living’s way. Mikey watches more than a couple civilians get dusted for it.</p>
<p>“Where are the cops?” Gerard shouts over the din once Mikey teleports back to him to report. He’s right, of course. There’s a lot of screaming and car alarms, but there’s no police response, no sirens, no indication that the authorities have been contacted.</p>
<p>“One problem at a time,” Mikey says. “Just follow the birds, Gerard.”</p>
<p>“We're downtown! Response time should be—”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, Gee, but there’s nothing I can do about that right now,” Mikey interrupts.</p>
<p>“What did Mama tell you?” Gerard asks, suddenly serious and staring Mikey down and looking angry. “What did you talk about? What’s going on with you?”</p>
<p>Mikey’s face twists.</p>
<p>“Watch out!” Frank yells, far too close.</p>
<p>Mikey flinches backwards just in time to watch Frank tackle a guard to the ground. They grapple and there’s only a brief moment where Frank’s fingers slip from his hold on the dude’s arm, but the guard manages to grab a fistful of Frank’s hair and slam his face sideways against the grille of a car, and Mikey can’t see exactly what happened but he sees blood gush from Frank’s face and his stomach drops.</p>
<p><em>Jesus Christ,</em> that's a lot of blood.</p>
<p>Of course, Gerard is there in seconds, kicking the B.L.I. guard’s head with such force that he’s out cold instantly. “Fuck, Frankie?!”</p>
<p>“Fuck— fuck, oh sh—” Frank pants unevenly, wiping his face with the back of his hand and watching it come back soaked in red, and he sits up and Mikey can see that there’s a big gash running across the right side of his face, drawing a line from the corner of his mouth towards his cheekbone. Luckily, it doesn't seem to rip through his cheek entirely. “J’sus…”</p>
<p>“Frank,” Gerard says. “Fucking— stop talking you fucking idiot. Mikey, bandages!”</p>
<p>Mikey flashes away, back to the motel and grabs the gauze out of the first aid kit they’d had ready, and teleports right back to the spot he left. He hands it to Gerard, who presses it to Frank’s mouth, but Frank’s hand comes up to hold it himself and his other hand bats Gerard’s away.</p>
<p>“‘S fine, ’s fine,” Frank says, slurring as he speaks without moving his lips much. “Shallow, j’st looks bad. I can still rumor. Eyes up, keep fighting.”</p>
<p>With that, Frank pushes himself up, plucks his uzi up in his left hand, and marches off.</p>
<p>“Frank’s right,” Mikey says finally. “We’ve gotta focus.”</p>
<p>Gerard scowls at his brother and opens his mouth to argue, but Mikey teleports away and does another round of teleportation, and it’s not like Gerard can do anything to stop him.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The ravens lead them downhill until, just after they turn right at the intersection of 6th and Grand, the ravens switch course and fly up and up and disappear over the roof of a skyscraper.</p>
<p>“Here,” Mikey says, backing up towards the street to get a look at the building past the overhang.</p>
<p>“This is bad,” Brian says. “There’s a million businesses in there.”</p>
<p>“It says AT&amp;T Center,” Mikey says.</p>
<p>“They own the building and lease it out. I’ve got no clue how many retailers are in here.”</p>
<p>“Which means what?” Mikey asks.</p>
<p>“That they have a pretty good excuse for a shit ton of guards and lots of rooms that aren’t available to the public.”</p>
<p>“Then it’s a good thing we’re not asking politely.”</p>
<p>Gerard lets out a long breath, glaring at Mikey out of the corner of his eye. “Well, we can’t be sure all of those guards will be Better Living employees, though. Let’s assume Better Living has their own mini-militia crawling all over the totally-not-prison they’ve got up there, because I don’t want to bank on the idea that the entire building’s security is guilty.”</p>
<p>“So?” Ray asks.</p>
<p>“We play nice,” Gerard says.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Within literal seconds of stepping inside, they subdue the security guards. And that’s not a gentle way of saying “kill”, they literally subdue these ones. Between the eight of them, the fifteen security guards who rush at them (wielding nothing more than holstered guns and batons and tasers) are child’s play. Superpowers like Bob’s and Mikey’s are suited best towards non-lethal combat, and Worm helps end scraps with brute force as well. Once they’ve beat the shit out of them and thrown them to the ground, Frank says, <em> “I heard’a rumor that you guards fell asleep f’r the next three hours,” </em> and suddenly there is nothing in between them and the elevator.</p>
<p>“How should we sweep this?” Christa asks, glancing over at Brian.</p>
<p>“I think I’ve got this one,” Gerard says. His eyes focus on something in the distance. “Hey. My name’s Gerard, and we’re here to set some prisoners free and take Better Living down. How do you feel about helping me make that happen?”</p>
<p>There’s a pause, and then Gerard smiles slightly.</p>
<p>“Do you know where Becky Cloonan is?” he asks, and immediately he makes for the elevators to hit the <b>‘UP’</b> button. “Floor thirty-seven. Let’s hope weight capacity can deal with all of us.”</p>
<p>Mikey grimaces at the thought of Worm and Bob in an elevator with six other people. “I can—”</p>
<p>“You don’t know if floor height is uniform,” Ray says. “You could teleport us right into a ceiling and suffocate us.”</p>
<p>That’s a pretty valid objection, so Mikey sighs and nods.</p>
<p>There’s a <em> ding </em> and an elevator full of ordinary civilians sees the guns and promptly freeze in place. Completely understandable reaction of course. Also completely in their way.</p>
<p>Sighing, Mikey lifts his pistol up. “It’d be great if you could leave the building.” After a bit of hyperventilation, they get moving and scurry out of sight. One man stops to stare at the unconscious guards, and Mikey stalks closer with his gun trained on the man. “Did you not fucking hear? Get out.”</p>
<p>“Mikey!” Worm says. “Let’s go!”</p>
<p>Mikey turns with a huff and presses himself into the crowded elevator long enough for the doors to slide shut.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>In the meeting room, they’re—</p>
<p>They’re fucking having tea. It’s 5:08 and the end of the world starts in 52 minutes, and it’s apparently also tea time.</p>
<p>There are five dozen dead armed guards scattered about the offices between here and the main elevators, and inside this little conference room, The Director and Becky Cloonan are looking over Los Angeles’s skyline <em>drinking some oolong.</em></p>
<p>When the Academy barges in, guns raised, The Director looks over them and raises her teacup to sip it. Becky, at least, has the decency to look shocked, and she pushes her chair away from the table and stands. She says, “what are you doing? Who are you?”</p>
<p>“Cloonan?” Gerard asks.</p>
<p>She flounders, open-mouthed for a couple seconds. “Yeah I—”</p>
<p>The Director narrows her eyes and grabs for Becky’s wrist.</p>
<p>Mikey raises his gun and pulls the trigger. His shot lands dead in the center of the Director’s throat, and she goes limp in her chair. The shot was so perfectly centered that Mikey’s pretty sure he hit the spinal column. In his head, he’s running numbers, wondering how much he just increased his chances of winning this thing. Without the Director interfering, if they can get Becky on their side, and there’s only one Director to deal with. (Deal with, not kill, because he's pretty sure the branched timeline won't work if the Director is dead.)</p>
<p>Becky looks down at the body with wide eyes, stepping back to avoid the spurt of blood that comes from the wound. “Jesus fucking <em> Christ.” </em></p>
<p>Gerard sends an agitated look at Mikey, but brushes it off as he carefully steps forward. “Hey. My name’s Gerard. You’re Becky Cloonan?”</p>
<p>The cornered look in her eyes is enough of an answer.</p>
<p>“We don’t want to hurt you,” Gerard says. “We’re The Umbrella Academy, and we’re here to take Better Living down. We know who you are, and we’ve heard of your powers. We know about the doppelgängers. You’re a prisoner, right? So you’ve got to have some notion of how critical the situation is.”</p>
<p>“I don’t--” Becky breathes heavily and looks back at the body of the Director. Then, she presses her palms to the table’s edge and leans on it, head tilted down just enough for her blonde hair to fall over her face.  “Look, I don’t like it either. But you can’t go after Better Living if you can’t take them down in one move. It just won’t work. Their resources are—”</p>
<p>“It’s today or never,” Gerard interrupts. “They set off nukes in an hour.”</p>
<p>She pales. “What?”</p>
<p>“Does she usually keep you company?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Today’s an important day in her calendar and she wanted you on lock down. Listen, we’re like you. We’ve got powers, and we hate what Better Living is doing. You’re the best chance we have at taking her down,” Gerard says. “What do you know about her?”</p>
<p>“Her name is Airi Isoda,” Becky says. “She’s the scariest business woman you’ll ever see. She’s got enough companies under her thumb to fund and build just about anything, and apparently she’s psychopathic enough to deal in nuclear weaponry. Not that I doubt that. I already knew she kidnapped and had her own secret police. She made me use my powers manually because - well, she said her calculations projected that the energy consumption for my powers would be too expensive to justify. It was easier to have me cooperate. So she let me keep them in exchange for my services.”</p>
<p>Gerard stares her down.</p>
<p>“I did it because I <em> had </em> to. If I refused, she would have just taken my powers anyway. You may know half a dozen people with superpowers who can rescue you, but all I had were cops,” Becky says, and then she mumbles, “and dirty cops at that.”</p>
<p>“I get that,” Gerard says. “I respect it, even. I just need to know where your loyalties lie now.”</p>
<p>“I’m against her. And if you are too… well, the enemy of my enemy,” Becky says.</p>
<p>“Are you capable of destroying her doppelgängers?”</p>
<p>Becky looks Gerard in the eye and nods.  She stands up straight, closes her eyes, and for a brief moment, a column of purple-pink-orange-white fire bursts from her, and then disappears just as fast as it came. “Just did. There’s only one of her now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Mikey hovers as the Academy stands around the table, arguing and arguing. Becky knows the location of Better Living’s base of operations, and apparently it’s the Wilshire Grand Center two blocks up the street. But that building has 73 vertical floors and an unknown number of basement floors and nobody’s keen on walking through every to check single one to find the resident super villain mastermind.                  </p>
<p>“If we got some message through to her, could you trace it, Brian?” Frank asks.</p>
<p>“I appreciate your faith in my abilities, but I can’t hack an email’s GPS coordinates,” Brian says. “And even if I did, that doesn’t tell us what altitude she’s at.”</p>
<p>“There’s gotta be ghosts willing to rat her out,” Bob says. “Gerard, you found a ghost that led you here, right?”</p>
<p>“It was a janitor who saw too much,” Gerard says. “Isolated incident. Better Living isn’t committing mass murder.”</p>
<p>“Not yet,” Christa says.</p>
<p>“I can <em> try, </em> okay? But we’d have to get to the building first for me to look for someone to conjure, and I don’t want to rely on the <em> hope </em> that there’ll be a cooperative ghost who knows exactly where we need to go,” Gerard says.</p>
<p>“No, Gerard’s right,” Brian says, closing his eyes. “We can’t rush in without a plan.”</p>
<p>“And we can’t make a plan until we get there,” Ray counters.</p>
<p>“Mag’c birds would be great j’st ‘bout now,” Frank says.</p>
<p>Mikey's mind turns quick, searching for an excuse to make their path to the Director harder. There's still too much time left, and he has to let things get down to the wire so that he can be sure the timeline branch will exist. “It’s not a <em> party trick. </em>It’s <em> divine intervention. </em> We can’t ring up a god for every little problem.”</p>
<p>“Pardon me, what the <em> fuck?” </em> Becky interrupts.</p>
<p>“Long story, don’t ask,” Bob mutters.</p>
<p>“Is Mother on our side or not?” Frank asks.</p>
<p>Mikey rolls his eyes and turns away.</p>
<p>“Mikey, he has a point,” Worm says. “We need to be on the same page. <em>Is</em> she a reliable ally?”</p>
<p>“She got us to Becky,” Mikey yells. He’s acutely aware of Gerard’s gaze on him as he speaks, but there’s not enough time to address everything diplomatically. “She’s not going to baby us; she’s a fucking god! She has a plan, and we talked about all the important parts. If she’s not intervening, it’s because we should be able to do it on our own.”</p>
<p>“Well maybe she just missed som—!”</p>
<p>“Fine!” Gerard shouts. “Fuck, fine, everyone shut up and we’ll try.”</p>
<p>Everyone watches as Gerard snatches up the Director’s abandoned tea cup from the table.</p>
<p>“You want <em> divination? </em>” Gerard grumbles. He reels back his arm holding the cup and hurls it at the ground with such force that it shatters all over the carpet. “We’ll do some fucking divination.”</p>
<p>Everyone stares at him as he taps each of the shards with one hand while the other keeps count in rapid-fire ASL.</p>
<p>“Okay. Forty-six. <em> Happy? </em>”</p>
<p>Everyone looks definitively uneasy about the validity of this information (especially Becky, who has approximately no idea what’s going on).</p>
<p>“It’s a start,” Gerard snaps. “Once we’re there and security rushes, Frank can get a guard to talk and confirm. For now, we have to get over there first.”</p>
<p>“That’s not going to be very easy,” Brian says. Mikey hadn’t noticed, but at some point Brian silently moved over to the window. He now peers down at the streets with a deep frown and worried eyebrows.</p>
<p>“What now?” Bob asks.</p>
<p>“There’s a police barricade. We’re surrounded,” Brian says.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The chapter's title is "Bullet-Proof Faces", not "Laceration-Proof Faces".</p>
<p>(Also if you know what the fire from Becky’s power is a reference to you i love you so much oh my god)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The Firefight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My political beliefs about the intrinsic corruption of the justice system vs. my need for a militarized force for plot reasons, FIGHT.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>17:24 FRIDAY</strong>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>“Should we negotiate?” Christa asks. “I mean, they saw us come in, but Becky’s a stranger. She could play hostage. We could send them demands for our release.”</p>
<p>“No, we can’t let them stall us,” Gerard says. “We barely have enough time as it is.”</p>
<p>“It wouldn’t work anyway,” Becky says. “Like I said, the LAPD are in BL/ind’s pocket.”</p>
<p>“So?” Ray asks. “Gee? What’s the plan?”</p>
<p>“If they get the stairs and elevators, we’ll be trapped. And our current goal is to get out and get moving as fast as possible,” Gerard explains. “Everyone reload. We need to secure the ground floor, and we’ll come up with an exit strategy along the way.”</p>
<p>“We won’t get down there in time,” Brian says, still watching the streets. “They’ll get in before the elevator arrives.</p>
<p>A plan clicks into Mikey’s head, and he steps back from the conference table to look at the legs of it. They’re not bolted into the ground. But the damn thing is like, fifteen feet long, and he’s not sure about the exact volume. “Mikey, could you?” Gerard asks, apparently having picked up on his idea.</p>
<p>Mikey shrugs. “Probably. I need to know how much it weighs.”</p>
<p>“Bob, Worm, could you lift the table for a second or two and give an approximate weight?” Gerard asks.</p>
<p>Worm says, “sure,” and Bob nods and they both shuffle to the center of the table on opposite sides, and then Worm gives a brief “One, two, three,” and they lift. Between the two of them, the table goes up. They drop it back down quickly anyway.</p>
<p>“Five hundred pounds?” Bob guesses.</p>
<p>“Yeah, that’ll do,” Mikey says.</p>
<p>“Do it,” Gerard says. “We’ll meet you down there.”</p>
<p>Mikey grabs the end of the table and jumps—</p>
<p>
  <em> (And wow, that’s a fucking weird thing to warp space around—) </em>
</p>
<p>All the way to the ground floor, where he teleports it right up against the revolving doors to barricade them shut. The table is now snug against the openings, so the walls of the revolving doors are wedged in place, kept from completing their circle. Luckily, the table itself is long enough to block both sets of doors.</p>
<p>(Mikey hopes the glass is shatter-resistant.)</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>They all get in place behind the table once the elevator delivers the rest of the group to the lobby. No incoming fire yet, but nobody trusts the glass not to give way, and nobody trusts the cops to approach peacefully.</p>
<p>“Mikey, I need you to clear our twelve,” Gerard says.</p>
<p>Mikey’s face screws up.</p>
<p>“You can do it,” Gerard says simply.</p>
<p>And he <em> can, </em> but Jesus fuck, he can’t begin to imaging how many cops are dead ahead, and he’s not very excited to find out.</p>
<p>“Take Frank’s gun. If the cops are surrounding us, they’ll have evacuated civilians. Hopefully. Collateral damage is now acceptable,” Gerard says. “Once you cut a path, come back and take Bob out there. Bob, I want you to move some cars and make some barricades. I want piles of cars on both sides.”</p>
<p>“You know that it’s super<em> strength </em> and not Super<em>man, </em> right?” Bob asks, looking a little pale.</p>
<p>“Then, I’ll need Mikey to teleport us to the cover Bob made. Ray, I’ll need you to move to nine o’clock and curve bullets that would hit us in the back. And once we get some breathing room, then we’ll all start moving towards three o’clock,” Gerard says. “B Team sticks with Becky like glue, and the rest of A Team will clear the path.”</p>
<p>Ray’s lips draw back in a hesitant grimace.</p>
<p>“Your approval rating is zero percent so far,” Mikey mumbles.</p>
<p>Gerard glares at him.</p>
<p>“You’re <em> sure </em> about this?” Mikey asks.</p>
<p>“Do you trust me or not?” Gerard says flatly.</p>
<p>Well, the answer to that question is yes, so Mikey supposes he has to give it a shot. Instead he sighs and turns and holds out a hand to Frank, who puts the handle of his uzi into Mikey’s palm. Mikey checks the magazine, pulls his lips tight, and holds out his other hand towards Bob. “Gimme a couple more magazines, a knife, and my grenades.”</p>
<p>Bob slips him the extra ammunition and he wedges it into pockets and hooks it onto belt loops and under his waistband.</p>
<p>Then, he jumps.</p>
<p>Directly to a roof, and he sweeps the surrounding roofs with a quick burst of teleportation until he comes across a sniper stationed on the roof across the east corner of the intersection. He takes the man out with a knife into the jugular and quickly searches him for a radio or something that could be giving him orders, but he comes up empty. Confused, Mikey looks closer at the belt, pockets, but the police radio isn’t even on. And then he hears a slight buzzing.</p>
<p>He follows it to the ear. Reaching up with both hands, Mikey finds that BLI earbuds are babbling directly into their heads.</p>
<p>He raises ȯ̬ne of the̩̋m ju͌͢st cl̨̐osẹ̠̓͋ en͛͜ou̳̒gh to̶̮̹̓̂ ͘ͅm͞ͅa̞̎k̙͆ẹ́ ̪̽ö̮́ǘ̲t̛͇͕̅ ̩͠t̳͔̽h̫̀e̯̩̔͘ ̭̎́͟s͔͂o͕̬̭͆͒̃͗͢ư̢̡͒͑͟n̳̯͌̎d͈̥̙͓̣̑̇̊̀̈́ f̶̤͂̎ͅo̶̮̹̓̂r̶̭͝ ̶̦̦̃ḧ̸͈́m̶̱̄s̷̤͋̏e̴̝̍l̸͉̬̾f̸̙̒̓ —</p>
<p>And he just <em> barely </em>has the sense of mind to put it back down before the static overtakes him.</p>
<p><em> “Jesus, </em> they’re being straight-up brainwashed,” Mikey mutters to himself. He glances down at the street below.</p>
<p>There’s not much he can do to disrupt that signal from being broadcast straight to all the cops, but it muddles his conscience somewhat. These cops… they have no choice in the matter. No procedure. No free will to question what they’re being told at all. They are being fed lines, and they are obeying, because they have been primed to listen.</p>
<p>They won’t show any mercy. He’ll need to match that.</p>
<p>Straight across the street, he raises the uzi clasped in both hands and picks some targets. He holds down the trigger for only a fraction of a second, but bullets fly out at a rate so fast that each person he aims it at is pumped full of metal anyway. He defaults to his signature move and teleports to a new position - on top of a car - to take a few more out before teleporting to a hiding place behind a car. The trick works just like it always did as a kid. Everyone gets jumpy when you make it obvious that you can attack from any angle and then disappear. It makes it so easy to pull off the next step, teleporting into the center of a group. He does, and gets a couple shots off before he jumps back to cover to let them shoot each other.</p>
<p>Another steadying breath before he heads for the ones advancing on the AT&amp;T Center. Four bullets sprayed over two cops, one at a third, and then a click, and shit, the magazine’s empty.</p>
<p>He jumps back to cover and reaches back to his pocket for the next magazine, and hears a gasp that’s far too close and lurches backwards away from the cop--</p>
<p>He teleports into the middle of the road on impulse, trying to get away, and lands just barely to the right of a group of four. Mikey kicks out the nearest one’s knees and shoves his unloaded gun at the man’s forehead. (He considered the knife, but brainwashed drones like these won’t care about their fellow drones unless it could quickly threaten their own personal safety. So out with surefire close-range threats, and in with bullshit.)</p>
<p>“Nobody move,” he bluffs.</p>
<p>They pause just long enough for him to grab a grenade from his hip. At once, they all lift their guns despite his hostage, all while Mikey pulls the pin with his thumb, teleports between the ones who he’d been staring down, and promptly drops the grenade before teleporting out. (It didn’t cook long enough, he thinks as he moves on. They’ll get scorched at best.)</p>
<p>He reloads and takes aim and kills and kills and <em> kills </em> until there are so many cops piling up in front of this one building that it’s a legitimate tripping hazard.</p>
<p>And they keep fucking coming.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>He heads back to the lobby when he runs out of ammo.</p>
<p>“What’s taking so long?” Gerard asks.</p>
<p><em> “What’s </em> <b> <em>taking </em> </b> <em> so long?” </em> Mikey repeats mockingly. “There’s a fucking million of them out there, and you asked me to clear them out! I can’t. There aren’t enough <em> bullets </em>, Gee. Maybe if we didn’t have a time limit, I could, but— but there is, and I can’t.”</p>
<p>“Mikey—”</p>
<p>“They’re being fed mind-control wavelengths directly through the radio. They’ve got no conscience, no code, no reason. The only way to get them to stop coming is to kill them, and there’s too many for me to kill. Work around it,” Mikey says, turning away.</p>
<p>“So now what?” Ray asks.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Gerard says, sounding extremely irritated. “I don’t… just, give me a minute.”</p>
<p>Everyone quiets down and Mikey takes the opportunity to actually sit down. The physical exertion of it all is getting to him even though the teleporting is trivial. Not to mention the mental toll. He knows these are people who would kill them given the chance, but he must have killed five dozen men outside just now.</p>
<p>With a sigh, he puts Frank’s gun on the ground and slides it over to him before running his hands through his hair in frustration.</p>
<p>“Gerard. Consider the problem. Close quarters, flanked, too many enemies, and none of them showing mercy,” Brian lists quietly. “You know exactly who was meant to handle these situations.”</p>
<p>Gerard tenses. “What the fuck are you suggesting?”</p>
<p>“He was our brother,” Brian whispers.</p>
<p>Mikey hadn’t— <em>hasn’t </em> let himself think about their dead brother, but the reminder hits him with all the impact and hurt of a sledgehammer to the chest.</p>
<p>“Last time— he was angry, and it was fresh, and he was young,” Brian says.</p>
<p>“Ghosts don’t age,” Gerard says. “Ghosts don’t <em> grow up </em> or <em> change, </em> and they don’t stop screaming, and he won’t stop trying to kill us—”</p>
<p>“Have you ever called one back from the beyond?” Brian asks in the tone of voice one takes when they already know the answer. “You don’t know how the rules work for that.”</p>
<p><em> “No, </em> I <em> don’t,” </em> Gerard agrees pointedly so that it’s clear Brian’s argument proves Gerard’s point as well.</p>
<p>“If you have a better option,” Brian shrugs.</p>
<p>There’s a silence, and then a bang, and the table jostles. The cops are at the rotating doors, trying to ram them open.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Mikey curses.</p>
<p>“We need to do something <em> now,” </em> Frank says.</p>
<p>Brain reaches out. “Take me to a roof - I’ll lay down cover.”</p>
<p>Mikey hesitates for a second, and then there’s another loud bang that rattles the conference table barricade and Mikey takes his hand. He drops Brian off at the south corner of the intersection (the Milando Lofts), where he’ll have a bird’s-eye view of the cops approaching and those at their doorstep. “Watch your back. I’ll come get you in a bit.”</p>
<p>“Go,” Brian says shortly, already lining up his first shot down at the street.</p>
<p>He jumps back to the lobby and watches Gerard kneel on the floor, hands glowing in a blue flame. He swipes at the floor like he’s trying to wipe something off the tile, but his stare bores deep into the ground as if he sees something on another dimension.</p>
<p>A loud piercing crack rings out, and a window makes a loud cracking noise, but doesn’t shatter entirely. When Mikey peers over, he sees that a shot from above has struck and killed a cop who was pushing on the revolving doors. A moment later, there’s another one, and more sniper shots pick off the brainwashed cops who begin piling up.</p>
<p>“Mikey, me too,” Ray says. “Multiple distractions would take the attention off Brian.”</p>
<p>Understanding, Mikey stretches out his hand. “Where?”</p>
<p>“Put me on the sidewalk across the street. I bet I can avoid getting shot if I put my mind to it,” Ray smirks.</p>
<p>This drop-off is even faster. He places Ray behind a car at approximately 2 o’clock from the lobby doors and returns to the center.</p>
<p>He gets back just in time to see the glow fade from Gerard’s hands. Gerard looks up at what is (to everyone else) empty air. His mouth falls open and he quickly covers it with his hands and then reaches out before stopping himself. “Hey.”</p>
<p>In the place of where a response in a conversation would go, all Mikey can hear is the gunshots and shouted orders from outside, and impact and shuffling of the table as officers try to shove the doors open. Mikey tries to split his attention between the events both outside and inside.</p>
<p>“You’re right about that,” Gerard says. “We’re… we’re— firstly, we’re so sorry. We— <em>they— </em>no, <b>we</b> never meant for…”</p>
<p>A pause, and Gerard glances briefly at Frank, and Mikey can only imagine the discussion they’re having. He wonders what their dead brother would think, seeing Frank bloody and exhausted and hiding from a fight. But wondering doesn’t help the situation, so Mikey shakes off his curiosity and instead flashes outside to fire a couple of shots from an unexpected position before popping back.</p>
<p>“Uhh, kinda. It’s— there’s an evil corporation that’s giving them orders and we're trying to stop them so… yeah, basically. We’re kinda fucked right now.” Gerard’s shoulders slump. “We need your help.”</p>
<p>Mikey looks over, trying to gauge how that’s going over by Gerard’s body language.</p>
<p>“I <em> know, </em> but I can manifest you, and you could… don’t you remember? You could do it before, and I could let you do it again,” Gerard says. He blinks up at the ghost in front of him, and says, “you’re family.”</p>
<p>Another pause, and Gerard’s gaze turns and follows something moving over the table.</p>
<p>“He agreed,” Gerard says, reaching out a hand to knock it gently against Mikey’s arm. “Bring Brian and Ray back.”</p>
<p>Mikey goes to do so.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Everyone risks poking their heads up above the table to watch.</p>
<p>Cloaked in blue, the translucent figure of a man that Mikey doesn’t visually recognize appears in front of the revolving doors and grabs two cops by the collars of their shirts and bodily hauls them away before shoving the both of them to the ground. Smoothly, his hands go straight from shoving cops towards his neck, reaching for his own collar and tugging the shirt over his head. Somewhere between that moment and the next, he releases the Horrors and they, much like he, head straight into action.</p>
<p>Most immediately, one tentacle slams down on the heads of the downed officers with such immediate force that Mikey doubts they even saw it coming. Past that, it’s hard to keep track of all the tentacles at once. They are numerous, and impossible to count when They <em> writhe </em> and <em> contort </em> and <em> tangle </em> into an undistinguishable mess. Cops everywhere within a fifty foot radius find themselves scrambling away from the flailing, unknowable beast that comes for them, unaware that their assailant is literally an infinitesimal fraction of the creature’s full size and strength. Not that it matters what they <em> know; </em> the force of their killer is deadly no matter how much or little they know about Them.</p>
<p>The Eldritch moves like a swarm, like a maelstrom, like a <em> hurricane </em> where their brother is the eye of the storm. He stands with his back to the lobby, holding the ends of the shirt so it’s wrapped around his neck as if it’s a towel and he’s just worked out. It keeps his elbows out of Their way, at least.</p>
<p>“Did he look like that when he died?” Mikey asks.</p>
<p>“No,” Ray says, sounding somewhat breathless. “He looks older.”</p>
<p>All at once, the tentacles raise up, arcing away from the ground. After a moment of what seems to be deliberation, They twine together into one massive blob, reach directly forward, and wrap around a set of cars. Then, with one massive, impossible shove, They send the gridlocked cars sliding backwards, gathering all the cars behind them in a way not unlike how a broom effortlessly piles small debris. As the cars reach the edge of Their range, They press up underneath the bumpers and forcefully flip the cars, one by one, until a massive pile of totaled cars land, obstructing the street so that the intersection is blocked off. Then, calmly, They turn and move to do the same on the other side.</p>
<p>Out of nowhere, the impulse to speak with his long-dead brother hits Mikey like a freight train. He knows time is of the essence, and that his brother’s appearance is a very temporary thing, but he presses thoughts about timelines and deadlines out of his head in favor of the emotional need for closure, because this is a chance he might never get again. He’s just being opportunistic. That’s it.</p>
<p>“Gee,” Mikey mutters, knowing they’re on shaky ground, but needing to ask regardless. “Could I talk to him?”</p>
<p>When he turns to look at his brother, Gerard is still on his knees, sitting back on his legs with glowing, clenched fists in his lap. He looks up briefly, with pure concentration and effort written across his face, and nods once.</p>
<p>Mikey doesn’t waste time, so he jumps outside as soon as he hears that. From the curb, he can see the view of the tentacles (which he remembers were a bright green in real life, but are now just the same blue any other ghost Gerard has manifested.</p>
<p>But this isn’t just any ghost, of course.</p>
<p>“Otter,” Mikey says.</p>
<p>The man in question looks over at Mikey’s call, and his expression softens instantly. “Hey, kid.”</p>
<p>“You’re—” Mikey stumbles over his words. “I wanted— I was trying to get back to you. The whole time I was gone. I just wanted to come back.”</p>
<p>“We just hoped you weren’t dead,” Otter says quietly. “And it looks like you’re not. I’m not even mad that I didn’t live to see it. You’ve got no clue how much peace of mind that gives me.”</p>
<p>There’s a god-awful crash of creaking metal as the Eldritch flips cars to form its barricade.</p>
<p>“I hope this helps,” Otter says, looking off at the tentacles as They work. “I can’t remember exactly what happened after I died, but I know Gerard banished me. And I know he wouldn’t have done that if I was a polite ghost, even if I looked gnarly from the cause of death. He only banished screamers, so I know that must’ve been what I become.”</p>
<p>Mikey presses his eyes closed. It’s hard to hear, even if he knows already. It’s tragic to hear someone who accepted that they were, if only briefly, a true monster.</p>
<p>“Death isn’t so bad,” Otter shrugs.</p>
<p>“Dying never hurts anyone but those it leaves behind,” Mikey says. He’s said that before, as a comfort to someone who was grieving, but now it just stings in its raw truth.</p>
<p>“I mean it. There’s a lot of dead people to chat with. And nobody really… <em> changes </em> fundamentally after they die, but I calmed down enough that I guess you could say I grew up. I think I can say that.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Mikey whispers. “I’m sorry I’m doing everything I can to save them but I’m not even trying to save you.”</p>
<p>Otter shakes his head. “I know you, Mikes. If you thought it was possible, you’d already be doing it.”</p>
<p>“I’m still sorry.”</p>
<p>“It’s alright,” Otter says. Then, he glances back at the lobby and at the Eldritch, and closes his eyes with a furrowed brow. Slowly, the tentacles start receding into his body once more, passing through the portal back to their own realm. “I can feel Gerard’s power keeping me physically here. I think it’s hard for him to manifest a person and even harder for him to manifest Them. But that’s okay, you know. I’m ready to go back.”</p>
<p>Mikey feels a rush of panic. <b>“Wait—!”</b></p>
<p>Otter looks down at him. “Oh, kid. You know I have to leave. I’ve been dead for a long time. I’m sorry I can’t give you a Happy Ever After.”</p>
<p>“I’m not…” Mikey peters out and hesitates, and then decides <em> ‘fuck it, what’s the worst that can happen’ </em> and walks forward and wraps his arms around Otter.</p>
<p>(He is ice cold, and does not feel solid to the touch, but that hardly matters. It’s nice, even, on such a hot summer day.)</p>
<p>“I’m sorry. I really miss you,” he whispers.</p>
<p>He relaxes as an unexpected, refreshing chill runs down his back, and realizes belatedly that it’s Otter, hugging him back. It’s--</p>
<p>Suddenly he stumbles forward, and realizes only after he did it that he’s walked right <em> through </em> Otter. Alarmed, he turns back and finds empty air. Gerard must’ve lost the connection.</p>
<p><em> … fuck. </em>All that sentimentality and the world’s still moving, the clock’s still ticking, and B.L.I.’s still gonna screw the world over if he doesn’t get moving.</p>
<p>He glances offhandedly down at the watch. 5:36. 24 minutes to the launch.</p>
<p>They need to go.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Once he’s brought them all outside, they begin walking towards the westward barricade.</p>
<p>“It’s this way. Two blocks this way, and then one block south, the tall building on the west corner,” Becky says. Then, she points at one of the skyscrapers towering above them. “Directly behind this one.”</p>
<p>“Great, so what, ten minutes of walking time?” Frank says sarcastically, looking down at his phone for the time. “We have twenty five minutes. Less.”</p>
<p>“Ten minutes to kill one woman,” Bob says.</p>
<p>“No, to <em> find </em> her and <em> then </em> kill her,” Christa interjects. “She won’t be alone. Our odds are terrible.”</p>
<p>“If you can teleport with us, could you just take us there?” Becky asks, glancing down at Mikey.</p>
<p>“No,” Mikey says.</p>
<p>Gerard, who has not given a single order in the last five minutes, turns and stares Mikey down. He looks awful, with sweat running down his face and Frank’s blood all over his hands and scorch marks on his clothes from B.L.I. patrol near-misses. “Why not?” Gerard asks, voice icy and harsh.</p>
<p>Mikey looks back, challenging. He’s bluffing his own brother, the person who knows him better than anyone else, and he hopes that anger and impatience mask his nerves. “Ray was right. If I try to teleport us to whatever floor Mama gave you with that little teacup trick, we could end up suffocating in a wall. I don’t have the floor plans, or the dimensions. It’s not a viable plan.”</p>
<p>Gerard wordlessly stares, no less intense and no kinder.</p>
<p>Around them, the others start talking.</p>
<p>Brian says, “These barricades are good - they’ll deter intruders for a while, but it won’t clear us a path. We’ll have to get moving.”</p>
<p>Frank grumbles, “They’ll be crawling over any second, anyway.”</p>
<p>Ray says, “If they weren’t being brainwashed as we speak, we could negotiate. Could we disrupt the signal?”</p>
<p>Brian says, “With no equipment? Hell no. There’s no way for me to hack into a radio signal. Not unless someone would like to mutate a new superpower right here, right now.”</p>
<p>“We’re losing time,” Gerard says finally, still looking Mikey in the eye. “Everyone start climbing. We’ve gotta run the gauntlet.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>They get barely past the first intersection when things start going wrong.</p>
<p>Ray can only curve the path of bullets when he knows they’re coming, and it’s sort of impossible to do that when they’re entirely surrounded. And as much as they feel like invincible superheroes, they’re not.</p>
<p>This is evident when Gerard is shot in the shoulder.</p>
<p>Gerard calls for a medic, and the immediate family knows instantly that he’s become too disoriented to call the shots.</p>
<p>Frank is at his side, but there’s not much to do when they’re in the middle of the fray other than make sure Gerard stays on his feet. They keep running, and Mikey keeps shooting as many cops as he can, and Ray keeps curving bullets and <em> they are trying their best. </em></p>
<p>Their best begins to fail when the group becomes separated.</p>
<p>Upon seeing Gerard wounded, Ray shifted his position from the center of the entire group to the front, where he could see the bullets coming from dead ahead and deflect them accordingly. This included staying close to Frank and Gerard, who move along like they’re stuck together by glue.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Bob and Worm are trying to cover their asses by ripping car doors off the hinges and throwing them (which admittedly is pretty distracting for those who have to dive out of the way), and Christa falls behind to keep Brian supplied with rifle ammo from Bob’s duffle bag, and Becky sticks with them because she assumes - and understandably so - that staying between the six foot giant and the gorilla will keep her safe.</p>
<p>Mikey sees this, and opens his mouth to inform Gerard.</p>
<p>And then he thinks about the future.</p>
<p>Not the hypothetical one. His <em> lived </em> one, from <em> his </em> timeline. He thinks about who survived the apocalypse, and who vanished without a trace. He thinks about how he’d never heard of Christa before, and how Bob and Brian were nowhere to be found.</p>
<p><em> (This is how it has to be; this is how the branch is made, </em> he thinks.)</p>
<p><em> (Forgive me, </em> he thinks.)</p>
<p>He watches Ray, Frank and Gerard dash out from behind cover and slow to a stop when Ray throws his hands out to catch a volley of bullets mid-air. Frank grabs Gerard’s sleeve. There is a split second where they debate which direction to dive for cover.</p>
<p>This is when Mikey teleports to them, puts a hand on Ray and a hand on Frank, and teleports them to the next intersection, and then before they’ve fully landed, to the next, and the next, and the police are no longer surrounding them because they’re standing in front of a massive building that Becky told them to go to.</p>
<p>Mikey wastes no time. He steps in front of Ray (who is disoriented and reeling) and grabs his still-outstretched arms and turns his palms up to the sky. “You know that trick where Bob used to catch me out of the air?”</p>
<p>Ray blinks. “Uh—?”</p>
<p>“Catch me,” Mikey says, and then he steps back and teleports up into the air. And he watches, and calculates how fast he’s accelerating and how fast the floors past the glass are moving, and then he teleports himself back to the ground and crashes somewhat diagonally into Ray. Luckily, Ray catches him but the momentum is too much and they both end up crashing to the ground, making them grunt.</p>
<p>“What-- what are we doing here?” Gerard asks, shaking off the dissociation and finally taking in his surroundings. “What about the others?”</p>
<p>“What floor?” Mikey asks while he stumbles to his feet.</p>
<p>“What—?”</p>
<p>“How many <b> <em>fucking</em> </b> tea shards, Gerard?!” Mikey shouts.</p>
<p>Gerard blinks in surprise.</p>
<p>“He said forty-six,” Frank cuts in.</p>
<p>Mikey reaches out a hand to Ray, who takes it, assuming Mikey will pull him up, but then Mikey puts a hand on Frank again and teleports the four of them up to the height of where the forty-sixth floor should be. He’s about five inches off, but that’s not that bad.</p>
<p>He spins around, waiting for a fight, but it’s—</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>It’s just an office building. An empty one. Not a soul in sight.</p>
<p>Mikey starts laughing.</p>
<p>“What is this?” Gerard asks. “Mikey what—? Did you get the wrong floor? Are we supposed to be…?”</p>
<p>Mikey absolutely cackles. He’s laughing so hard that he has to press his eyes shut and curl in on himself. <em> “Wow. </em> That’s mean.”</p>
<p>“Mikey, what’s going on?” Ray asks as he gets to his feet.</p>
<p>He sobers up some, enough to sniff and wipe the hysterical tears out of his eyes and shake his head. “Look at this. It’s the right floor, but the Director isn’t here. Maybe she never was. I didn’t expect her to play that dirty, but Mama either gave us information that would be very quickly outdated or she just gave us completely wrong intel.”</p>
<p>“Why...” Gerard’s voice fades out. “Why would she do that?”</p>
<p>Mikey shakes his head, furrows his brows, completely ignores Gerard’s questions. “I think this is it. The end, so to speak.”</p>
<p>There is silence.</p>
<p>(True silence. Everything has been loud, all day, all week, but now everyone holds their breaths in a completely still room, and there is quiet.)</p>
<p>“Because this is supposed to happen,” Mikey says eventually. “Because it has to.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Mikey thought that would be the end of the line, and that they would just have to sit around and wait for the time to come, but it’s not. After another few minutes of ignoring his brothers’ interrogation, of the three of them demanding answers that he’s not willing to give, there’s a chime over some sort of intercom system.</p>
<p>Promptly, every computer screen on every desk of the entire floor clicks on and displays a silent video.</p>
<p>(Not video. Livestream.)</p>
<p>Black-and-white footage from security cameras, showing New Downtown. More specifically, the police confrontation with Bob, Christa, Brian, Worm, and Becky.</p>
<p>“There are a great many people who see your so-called ‘family’ as heroes. I am well aware of the stance that the public media has taken on your childhood adventures,” a voice says over the PA, slightly accented and female in tone. “It’s with this understanding of your current favorability to the public that I must inform you that your status as beloved and benevolent figures will soon come to an abrupt end.”</p>
<p>“Who is this?” Ray asks. He is glued to one of the computers, standing practically on top of it as he tracks the blurry movements on the screen.</p>
<p>“That’s the Director,” Mikey says.</p>
<p><em> “That’s her?” </em>Frank asks, raising his eyebrows.</p>
<p>The Director continues, “So as to give credit where credit is due, I must commend you for convincing Ms. Cloonan to betray me. Such a serious offense is often unthinkable to prisoners who understand the severity of typical punishment for such disloyalty. I wouldn’t worry about her, though. You may rest assured that she will not be harmed.”</p>
<p>From the looks of the video footage, it seems evidently clear that that reassurance does not extend to the rest of those fighting.</p>
<p>“I’m also watching you,” her voice says. Immediately after this, every other computer screen changes its display, now showing security camera footage not of the streets, but of the office. Mikey sees Gerard’s hair first, and then quickly identifies all of them, staring at different unoccupied desks. “It’s with complete certainty that I can say I’m looking forward to talking with all of you. You’re so well-informed about my company and my plans. There are so many questions to ask. For example, I wonder what tipped you off, and if you even noticed that our development of spycraft droids was directly inspired by your own father’s work. I can’t wait to hear about how you learned so much.”</p>
<p>With disdain, he glares at the computer screen in front of him.</p>
<p>“And you will be cooperative, I’m sure,” The Director says as an afterthought.</p>
<p>“Like hell we will,” Gerard shouts. “Mikey, fucking take us back. We need to find her, and we need them to do it.”</p>
<p>“No,” Mikey says.</p>
<p>“N—? Mikey, we need the full Academy to take her on! They’re going to kill them!”</p>
<p>Mikey sets his jaw and ignores them.</p>
<p>“Mikey, we can’t give up,” Frank says.</p>
<p>“I’m not,” Mikey says, looking up at Frank. “I’m just playing the game.”</p>
<p>“The game? Are our brothers chess pieces to you? Worm? Ray’s fucking <em>fiancee?”</em> Gerard shouts.</p>
<p>Mikey glances up towards the security camera, which is fastened to the ceiling where it points down at all of them. “Isoda? Can you hear me?”</p>
<p>“Loud and clear,” she says over the intercom.</p>
<p>“Let’s bargain.”</p>
<p><em>“Bargain?</em> For what?”</p>
<p>“You know what I can do. You know I could go get them right now, and we could go anywhere in the city and we’d all get away, a problem for you to deal with every day of the rest of your life,” Mikey says. “I could even come after you right now, and maybe I’d even find you, because I can be in a thousand places in the span of a minute, and you should know from watching that I’m more than capable of ending anybody’s life once they’re within range.”</p>
<p>“Or?”</p>
<p>“Or I stay put,” Mikey says. “And you promise me that the four of us get remedial bleaching instead of extermination.”</p>
<p>“What are you talking about? Mikey, that’s our family!” Gerard exclaims, grabbing Mikey’s shoulders and shaking him, as if Mikey is deluded. As if his brother would never even consider something like this. It’s sort of tragic, in a way, that Gerard thinks so highly of him.</p>
<p>Mikey looks Gerard in the eye. “Do we have a deal, Ms. Isoda?”</p>
<p>“We have a deal,” the intercom says.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've had a lot of these last chapters planned for a long time, but the Otter appearance was a surprise to me. I think it needed to happen, though.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Phoenix Plead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>LET'S GO!!!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>The time is 5:55. There are five minutes until the war that ends the civilization begins.<br/>
</b>
</p><p>Mikey has the full picture now. He imagines that this is approximately the point where he’s meant to understand everything. There have been so many past iterations that no mortal could have kept count, but at this moment, he thinks he knows where he is, what has happened, and what will happen.</p><p>There have been versions upon versions of this encounter, but here is what remains the same: the Director is always hidden, half the family always dies, and for a few precious minutes Mikey understands. In those other versions, this is the point at which alternate-Mikeys realize that there have been applications of their powers stolen by others, and this is where he realizes that Bob and Brian’s powers are missing from the list. In those other versions, this is also where he realizes that he is going to be caught and bleached and become the Kobra Kid he knew in his original timeline.</p><p>This is - in both those other versions and this one - where he realizes why the death of the Director is explicitly specified in the QR code. Androids were something he completely overlooked. A foolish oversight, considering that he was raised by a prototype. He should have listened to Bob’s concerns that Father was murdered, because if Father was paranoid, it may well have been a valid response to having Elena’s blueprints stolen. Mikey is well aware that those androids only unconditionally obey their programmer (because he’s always known Elena would have helped them if she could, she would have chosen them over him if she was able) and he knows that control lies solely in the hands of The Director. Of course it’s androids planted in world government. It’s the only answer that makes sense in hindsight; asking anyone to trigger war would be asking a suicide mission, so why not make it a being that could never be disloyal? That obedience is why the past time loops ask the next one to kill the Director, but Mikey knows that even if he did, there’s a chance that the androids would obey their orders anyway. (There’s no way to tell if he’s killed the Director before and simply failed to stop the wars.) And that’s why it <em> has </em> to be The Girl. Because just killing the Director isn’t even enough; there can’t be any way for those spydroids to be activated at all.</p><p>All at once, he is overcome with the oddest feeling of peace. There have been countless lives lost to this cycle where he tries - nearly in vain - to right the wrongs of human greed. Each one may as well be an abstract concept for all he cares, because all of them failed, and so they must not have mattered much. But at this moment, he understands them. The gut wrenching guilt, the weariness, the submission to the course of fate. It was theirs, and now it is his. He’s in the same place, the same time as all of them.</p><p>He finds the years he lost.</p><p>
  <b>The time is 5:56. There are four minutes until the war begins.<br/>
</b>
</p><p>“Mikey!” Gerard shouts. “Fucking look at me!”</p><p>Mikey looks over, because he wants to make it clear that he’s fully cognizant of Gerard and intentionally ignoring it.</p><p>“That’s our fucking family,” Gerard says. “What the hell is wrong with you? They are in danger, and we need to help them.”</p><p>He closes his eyes and lets out a long breath.</p><p>“They’re being shot at. They’re being gunned down, and they’re retreating. Are you watching? Did you see that Brian got shot? That <em> Worm </em> got shot? That’s our family, and they’re bleeding on the street, and <em> any </em> <b> <em>one</em> </b> of the <em> hundred </em> cops surrounding them could get a lucky shot and kill them. And what are we going to do about it? Are we really going to sit on our asses and wait for the world to end?”</p><p>“I have a plan,” Mikey says.</p><p>“A <em> plan? </em> Is that why you let Korse go? And why you refused to take all of us here? Why you let the cops close in on us? <em>That</em> was your grand plan? Some fucking strategist you are! If we don't <em>do something</em> right now, the world <em>explodes.</em> And even if that weren't the case, we could be doing something to help our brothers. There’s gotta be a better way!”</p><p>“There isn’t.”</p><p>“Mikey, what the fuck are you doing?”</p><p>“I’m playing the game.”</p><p>“Yeah, you mentioned, but what does that mean? The <em> game?” </em> Gerard exclaims incredulously. “Are they fucking pawns to you?”</p><p>“Maybe they are.”</p><p>Gerard steps forward and punches him straight across the face.</p><p>
  <b>The time is 5:57. There are three minutes until the war.<br/>
</b>
</p><p>“Gerard, the hell?” Frank exclaims, making for the two of them. He pulls Gerard back, and watches in shock as Mikey straightens and rubs his cheek. “The fuck are you doing?”</p><p>“Me?” Gerard scoffs. “Ask him! He’s the one leaving our family to die!”</p><p>“Yeah and you’re the one that punched a kid!”</p><p>“He’s not a fucking kid, he’s— I don’t even fucking know if that’s my <em> brother,” </em> Gerard says.</p><p>“Get a hold of yourself. He’s gotta have a plan to save them. He wouldn’t—” Frank cuts off and looks over at Mikey. “Right? You’re waiting for something to happen, and then you’ll bring them back safe and sound, right?”</p><p>“They’re <em> already </em> shot, they’re <em> already </em> hurt,” Gerard snarls. “They’re bleeding on the street right now and he’s not doing shit!”</p><p>“Mikey,” Frank calls, louder than Gerard. “You <em> are </em> going to save them, right?”</p><p>“I hope,” Mikey says. “I’m trying.”</p><p>“Not trying very hard,” Gerard bites out.</p><p><em> “I heard a rumor that you didn’t lie to us,” </em>Frank says. “You’d never sacrifice them, right?”</p><p>Mikey closes his eyes and presses his lips together, and he’s suddenly very grateful that Frank decided to forbid lies rather than compel truth, because he doesn’t know if he could hold it together if he had to admit to what he’s willing to allow for the sake of his plan.</p><p>“Oh my god,” Frank says under his breath.</p><p>
  <b>The time is 5:58. There are two minutes.<br/>
</b>
</p><p>“Guys,” Ray says. “They’re cornered.”</p><p>There’s silence, and Mikey opens his eyes and watches Frank and Gerard walk together to stand beside Ray. Mikey looks towards the nearest computer displaying the live footage of the streets. It looks like the others have gotten through a parking lot and crossed it to land in a walkway-alley where they are currently pinned down. Bob has dragged four cars from the parking lot to create makeshift cover to hide behind, and Worm is working on bringing a fifth as Christa and Brian lay down covering fire. Brian is sprawled out on the hood of one of the cars, leaning on the windshield and aiming his rifle over the roof. It’s clear, even from a distance, that his leg is bleeding heavily over the car.</p><p>“Wait, where’s Cloonan?” Frank asks.</p><p>“The police got her a few minutes ago,” Ray says, voice so quiet that it’s barely more than a whisper. “They took her. A cop hit her over the head and dragged her out of frame.”</p><p>“They’re going to die,” Gerard says in shock. “They’re really going to die there if nobody does anything.”</p><p>Silence meets him. There’s no gloating Director over the PA, no audio from the footage being broadcast to them. Just the four of them standing and watching it happen, unable to do everything.</p><p>
  <b>The time is 5:59. One minute.<br/>
</b>
</p><p>Mikey breathes shakily as he stares at his watch. It must be time. They’re surrounded with no help in sight. And Mikey looks at his brothers standing, watching the broadcast, and he sees that none of them can do anything either.</p><p>But Mikey, on the other hand…</p><p>It’s time.</p><p>He lifts his hand, watches it coat itself in the blue fire, and hopes that it is righteous.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>His powers always feel like a push, or a tug, and now is no exception. It's a slow, taxing pull on spacetime that is never easy-going and never sudden and never anything but relentless. See, Mikey knows now that he's definitely not capable of hopping back and forth when the gap in time is literally decades wide, so instead of trying to jump to the future...</p><p>Well.</p><p>He's put a pause on the present and is trying to drag the future to him.</p><p>(The present stays still in the strangest of ways. First, it pauses - even the watch on his wrist is not exempt from the freeze-frame. Then, emanating from his feet and stretching outwards, there is a black void that begins to obscure the world. This is temporal energy; the blank spot of where he is <em>removing</em> the present so that he may replace this patch of space with the future.)</p><p>Pain isn't the right word for the sensation he feels, because it feels as if he has no nerves to <em> perceive </em> hurt. Strain, yes. Exertion, <em> yes </em>. And one might expect that if he weren't feeling pain, it would be bearable, would be easy to just power through and keep at it. Instead, it's the most terrifying physical experience he's ever had. His skin feels like it's vibrating and his particles are being scattered to the wind, like he's making no progress at all in filling this void, like he's playing tug-of-war with the universe and failing so miserably that even attempting it is going to annihilate him.</p><p>Of course, he knows <em> why </em> he's hitting a brick wall. He knows that it's another case of the universe freaking out about his paradoxical coexistence, but this time the burst of energy released from it is pressing <em> against </em> him instead of <em> with </em> . Admittedly, this is understandable; he is trying to press himself into a future not only with an alternate Mikey, but with his own literal, direct future self. <em> Two Mikeys </em> was hard enough when it was distinct Mikeys from separate timelines, so three must be a nightmare for the universe to sort through. Thus it presses back, reasonably, in an attempt to keep him from stepping out-of-bounds and fracturing reality.</p><p>He grits his teeth and yanks on the metaphorical rope anyway.</p><p>That's when things start to get a little freaky.</p><p>His surroundings stop existing. Or rather, they don't. Or rather, <em> both</em>. His perception fractures in half: one outward, observing the patch of future that finally comes to fill the void, and one inward, hitting him like the oddest of flashbacks from memories he’s never experienced. Like a daydream so vivid you don’t remember which is reality. Like holding a kaleidoscope up to one eye but not shutting the other.</p><p>He has double vision: one sees through the skyscraper window and watches the shields rise as the ash falls heavy and thick outside, painting the sky maroon. And his other view is...</p><p><em> He's sitting in a long row of chairs and desks among others dressed in white like him and everything is monochromatic and he takes a graphite pencil and he shifts the paper closer to the edge of the desk and he writes a tidy little line of script in the top right corner and the little line that says “ </em> <span class="u"> <b> <em>Name: </em> </b> <b>  </b> </span> <em> <span class="u"> “</span> becomes “ </em> <span class="u"> <b> <em>Name: </em> </b> </span> <b> <em><span class="u">   Michael  Way  </span> </em> </b> <em> “. </em></p><p>Mikey drags at spacetime a little more.</p><p>Another shift, and the skies outside the shield are beige now that the fires have been smothered out and replaced with ongoing sandstorm that won't relent for years, but at least it's not ash anymore.</p><p>
  <em> He's in his a dingy apartment and he's sorting the tiny parts of a machine he's taken home from work and he looks up and Gerard walks in the door before walking straight down the hall into his own bedroom - like always - and this double-Mikey shakes his head and lifts his tweezers to get back to work, because someone has to have a productive interest outside of work and he supposes it’ll just have to be him. </em>
</p><p>Further.</p><p>The sky is clear without a shield to shimmer and obscure the void where stars ought to be - definitely not in the slums, but not quite far enough from the City to be safe.</p><p>
  <em> They're running, and they're shaking, and they're only in Zone 1 but they want to go further; they just can't go far until they're sure the withdrawal won't kill them, and they're watching their own backs because they're enemies of the state now but that's exactly how they want it anyway so fuck it. </em>
</p><p>Further, faster.</p><p>The desert sand out here doesn't kick up to block the sky unless people are racing by, or unless there's a storm rolling through. It is pure blue, sometimes so blue that it’s teal, sometimes so achingly vibrant that even just looking up feels like home.</p><p><em> Nowadays, when he says ‘we’ it’s not just him and his brother, it’s him and his brother and their best friends, and it feels right and it feels like home and it feels like he would die if he had to go back to the way it was, but he would </em> <b> <em>live</em> </b> <em> if he got to keep running with the three of them, because this is what it's about and this life is meant to be and he is, for once, actually happy and nobody can take that from him now. </em></p><p>One more shove and he's at the end of that line.</p><p>The diner, the day before...</p><p><em> He knows it's coming soon, he knows because Cherri figured out their tattoos and the prophecies have yet to be wrong, and he knows it's going to come to an end, and the funny thing is he doesn't care, because he's going to go out showing The Girl that her life is something worth dying for, and he's </em> <b> <em>so</em> </b> <em> okay with that, because he's got his brother and he's got his best friends and there are worse ways to die than doing it for love. </em></p><p>Once Kobra - his future self - is dead, it becomes so easy to drag the future closer that he only barely manages to slow down in time for his second death.</p><p>This pocket of the future he's created quivers, and for a moment he feels real fear at the thought that it might collapse. Mikey doesn't know what kind of fail state would be worse: spitting him out in the present, or trapping him in the future.</p><p>But he's already here. And now he just needs to hold his ground.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The closest he could get to describing what he sees is that it feels like the inside of a snow globe. It’s like he can only render in a sphere of area closest to him, and that’s all he can see and interact with. It is the inverse of what it was before; temporal energy has become a fog surrounding him instead of pouring out from him. He simply didn’t have the power to drag the <em> entire </em> future to him, so this will have to suffice.</p><p>When he looks at the patch of future he’s conjured, The Girl is already there, setting her boombox radio on the ground and walking up to the edge of the area Mikey’s created. She looks out at a ravine and sky that only she can see, standing still for a long moment. The wind ruffles her hair, which is cropped short and more jagged than he's ever known it. Nonetheless, he recognizes that jacket. He knows his kid.</p><p>He shifts on his feet. "Hey... excuse me—"</p><p>She turns. Her eyes lock on him.</p><p>His voice dies in his throat, and he breathes raggedly for a moment, trying to collect himself. Eventually Mikey looks her in the eye and says, "I'm lost. Can you help me?"</p><p>Fuck, he forgot how blue her eyes are. Big and wide and confused.</p><p>"Do you know me?" Mikey asks quietly.</p><p>The pocket-future flickers again, and he flinches, turning and stumbling backwards. First, it’s the edges of the snow-globe world that waver, and then it's <b>him.</b></p><p>It's a volatile experience, but his body cuts off all sensation as it changes, rapidly shifting and shifting back and existing in the wrong space and wrong time and trying its hardest to settle on a form that satisfies the timeline. He's in Kobra's body, and then back to his sixteen-year-old self, and Cherri, and back and forth and back and forth he parts of his form flicker and he can't feel a thing, he just watches his hands change and the ground get further and closer as he ages and regresses again and this is bad, this is pure instability, this isn't going to work—</p><p>And then a hand grabs at his palm and sensation floods back into his body, and he looks down (down, because he's landed half-way between Mikey and Kobra but just enough to be taller than her) at The Girl. "You're not lost anymore," she says.</p><p>Mikey gasps in a breath at the strain of the past-present tugging him back, and then he loses all feeling around one of his biceps and he twists his head to watch it flicker - <em>glitch</em> - in just a small part of his body.</p><p>"What's happening? Are you okay?" The Girl asks, panic flooding her voice. She grabs his arm with her other hand and holds on and the flickering settles down, to his surprise. Mikey wonders absently if she's acting as an anchor, if the future can hold onto him the same way he holds on to it. "What can I do to help? Please, c'mon, tell me and I'll do it!"</p><p>"Who do you think I am?" Mikey asks, even though it doesn't really make a difference.</p><p>"Ch—" The Girl blinks, and leans back, and suddenly he sees the tears that pool in her eyes. Her voice seems so fragile and so hopeful when she says, "Cola?"</p><p>"Yeah," Mikey says, because he was Cola two weeks ago when he died for her, and he would be happy to be that man again. "I'm in a lot of trouble right now. I really need some help."</p><p>"What's going on? Can I help?" she asks eagerly.</p><p>"You're the only person in the universe who could."</p><p>She blinks her wide eyes, and a few tears drip down her freckled face. And oh, he needs her help, but he can't lie to her. He can’t even bring himself to mislead her.</p><p>"You would need to leave this place. You'd never see anyone here again, you'd never be able to go back to the desert or even the city."</p><p>"There's nobody here for me anyway. Do you— do you need me to come to the afterlife with you?"</p><p>"The—?" Mikey stifles a laugh and smiles down at her, unexpectedly delighted with the simple incorrect assumption. So much is at stake right now that it seems absolutely endearing that this kid jumps to martyrdom even when she has no clue what’s going on. "No. No, I think we could both make it out alive. And actually, I think if we pull it off, we'd get to be with our friends again."</p><p>"Are you <em> sure </em> you're not talking about the afterlife?" The Girl asks, so confused but so full of fucking trust.</p><p>"Yeah, I'm sure. But you'd never be able to go back."</p><p>She looks away and tugs on his hand until he walks with her to the boombox on the ground, and as she grabs the handle, her little black cat hops onto her shoulders. The Girl looks back up at him with pure conviction. "I meant what I said. There's nothing I can't take with me. So what do you need me to do?"</p><p>Mikey swallows. "You've got to… I don’t know how to ask this, but—”</p><p>"Is this about the bomb?" she asks. <em> "Me, </em> I mean. I'm literally a bomb. Is this about that?"</p><p>Mikey blinks in surprise. "Well ye— wait, what?"</p><p>"I can control it," The Girl says. "I did it before. I set all the dracs free. I broke The City's tech."</p><p>“I’m so proud of you,” he says without even thinking twice.</p><p>The grin she gives him is more than enough to indicate that he was right to voice the thought.</p><p>"Do you think you could detonate again? Destroy every B.L.I. piece of tech in the world?"</p><p>There's no nervous 'maybe', and there's no deer-in-headlights look from her. She just sets her jaw, smiles, and nods once.</p><p>"When did you grow up?" he whispers.</p><p>"Somewhere on the pavement in between," The Girl says.</p><p>"Are you ready?" Mikey asks.</p><p>"Let's make some noise."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He lets go of 2032 and grabs onto the Girl. Time itself tears around them in a flurry. The Girl is safely tucked against his chest and his other arm wraps around the cat, because he's not going to let her lose the only part of home she has left.</p><p>The storm sweeps them right back to LA and places them exactly where/when Mikey left - in the office, in the Wilshire Grand Center, in front of his brothers again.</p><p>He glances at his watch, and it begins ticking again. Fifteen seconds.</p><p>"Now or never," Mikey says, taking a few steps backwards from her.</p><p>She doesn't waste any time before she gets to business. She drops the boombox, lets the cat jump away, and closes her eyes. The Girl puts her hands over her chest and instantly the most brilliant neon light begins shining from under it.</p><p>She plucks out the brightest, oddest shape from her body; it somehow drips with floating liquid and crackles with live lightning simultaneously.</p><p>The Girl holds it up, like a trophy, like a skull, like a torch.</p><p>She says, "Boom."</p><p>(The world promptly explodes.)</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Mikey stares up at the ceiling, right up until The Girl rushes over to him and gets up in his face.</p><p>"Cola? Cola!! Oh, I swear to fuckin' Destroya, if I saved your sorry ass only to crack your skull open doing you a favor—"</p><p>"I'm fine," he says. "You pack a punch, motorbaby."</p><p>"Then get up," The Girl says. "And then... and then explain where we are, 'cause I'm gettin' goosebumps."</p><p>“Did you do it?”</p><p>“Yeah. Blew out everything B.L.I. had. Nothing of theirs should work. Not masks, not rayguns, not droids - nothing.”</p><p>Mikey glances at his watch. 6:01. If she’s right, then his life’s work is done.</p><p>"But really, get up," The Girl says, extending a hand down.</p><p>He reaches up to take her hand, but he stops himself when it looks far larger than it actually should. He looks down, and his body is more filled-out and taller and heavier, and oh shit, he's actually in an adult body. Unexpected but definitely not unwelcome.</p><p>"Cola?" The Girl says.</p><p>He pulls himself up with a desk instead and looks around, and sees Frank and Ray and Gerard in a huddle, grabbing at each other's shirts and glancing nervously over at The Girl and Mikey and <em> wow, </em> they really don't know who <em> either </em>of them are.</p><p>"What are you—" The Girl cuts off mid-sentence as she follows his line of sight.</p><p>There's a beat where Mikey just watches, enjoying the look on her face as she sees the faces of the people who raised her.</p><p>And then she takes off at a run, and slam-tackles Gerard in a hug, and Gerard looks panicked and Frank physically takes a step back and Ray reaches for a knife only to stop himself, probably because he has eyes and can see that she's just a kid.</p><p>Mikey laughs, because it's hard not to.</p><p>That's when Gerard's eyes snap up and flash with recognition. <em>"Mikey?!"</em></p><p>"Hey, give the kid a hug. She hasn't seen you since you died, and she did just save the world," Mikey says. "I'm gonna get the rest of our family."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He teleports to the street before he can be stopped, and starts looking around for where he last saw Brian and Bob and Worm and Christa on the broadcast.</p><p>They are, luckily, relatively fine.</p><p>They were pinned down, surrounded when The Girl detonated and took out the communication line between the BLI broadcast and the dirty cops. And they were dirty, sure, but they were also being actively hypnotized, so the lack of a voice in their ear encouraging them to mindlessly follow orders was enough to stun them into a ceasefire.</p><p>Mikey takes the opportunity to hop to the California Club alley and their makeshift cover of cars stacked upon cars.</p><p>"Hey," Mikey says.</p><p>"What the fuck!" Bob screeches, jumping backwards and denting a car with his elbow.</p><p>Brian squints. "Mikey?"</p><p>"Mikey?" Christa repeats, more incredulous than inquisitive. "What happened? You're a grown-up now?"</p><p>"Time travel got messy," Mikey says.</p><p>"Time t—" Brian's brows furrow even deeper. "What did you do?"</p><p>"I think I saved the world by—" Mikey pauses and scratches his neck. "... By getting a teenager to do it for me."</p><p>"Is that what the shockwave was?" Worm asks.</p><p>"Is everyone else okay?" Bob asks.</p><p>"Is it over?" Christa asks.</p><p>Mikey laughs weakly and scrubs his face and grins. "Yeah. Yeah I think so."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He goes through the story one last time once he’s gotten everyone together. The world he lived, the world he hijacked, and the ghost world he created with his powers. He explains time travel and prophecies and magical powers.</p><p>Gerard is surprisingly the first to understand, and he’s also the one who needs the least explanation. This is, maybe, why Mikey spends the last minutes of freedom with him.</p><p>Mikey made a teleportation trip with Brian back to their little motel room to get him first aid. The trip also served as a chance to check the news on the internet and television, because every smartphone in downtown seemed to be fried. And when they got out there, the local TV station said that every crisis team in the county was being sent to the origin of the supernatural worldwide shockwave, including the National Guard to respond to the reported 'group of armed terrorists who took countless lives'. So instead of being hunted down, Brian made a phone call and asked to be patched through to the FBI, which was granted when he mentioned that they were going to turn themselves in. Oh, and they let the guy they kidnapped go while they were at the motel, because Mikey heard a thump against the closet wall and felt guilty.</p><p>And now they wait for the FBI to get through the chaotic streets and arrest all of them.</p><p>"You were really mad at me," Mikey says.</p><p>"I didn't understand how you could do that," Gerard says. "How you could ever put our family in harm's way. I was thinking that I missed something, and you changed and I missed it. That you'd stopped seeing us as family and started seeing us as pawns."</p><p>Mikey's lip twists. "That's all true."</p><p>"I can't judge that, though," Gerard says. "If it were anyone else..."</p><p>"You can't make exceptions for me."</p><p>"It's not because you're you," Gerard says quickly. "And it's not because I love you. I <em> do </em> - obviously - but I think anyone who can rewrite time... that changes the way you have to consider things. I got too caught up to see the big picture."</p><p>"That's not on you. I let you think I was backstabbing you," Mikey says quietly. He sighs and leans back against the office chair he's sitting in. "You're allowed to still be mad. I don't want to get away with it."</p><p>"It?" Gerard asks.</p><p>"Risking their lives and selling them out," Mikey grits out, ignoring the bad taste in his mouth. "I knew what I was doing. I knew it could get them killed for real, and I did it anyway. And I don't even regret it. I don’t regret that I could be guilty of manslaughter of my own family. That’s worth anger. That’s worth hate."</p><p>“I don’t think it would be fair for me to hate you. I don’t think I could do what you do.”</p><p><em> “Wouldn’t. </em> You wouldn’t.”</p><p>“No.<b> Couldn’t. </b>You’re strong enough to look at the results of a bad dimeline and even after living through it, you have the strength to cast all of it away into non-existent obscurity just so you can try to improve. I can’t imagine not getting attached.”</p><p>“That’s what’s awful about it, Gee. I’m willing to look at a version of you and say <em> this isn’t what I want’ </em> and then undo all of your choices, reset, try to manipulate you into behaving how I want. And when it doesn’t work, I just abandon the timeline and move on. I see every version as disposable, as something I could change if I wanted. It’s fucked up, and there’s nobody holding me accountable for what I’ve done.”</p><p>Gerard sighs.</p><p>"Say something," Mikey whispers.</p><p>"There's nothing you're ready to hear," Gerard says.</p><p>"We won't have a chance to talk for a while," Mikey says. "God knows when they'll let us. We might not even <em> see </em> each other until they get us in court. And even then, once the jury hears what we did— what <b> <em>I</em> </b> did—"</p><p>"No, Mikey, we're going to be fine."</p><p>“And if it’s <em> not?” </em> Mikey challenges. “We might not have the time. Just talk to me now!”</p><p>There’s a moment of silence. And then, Gerard says, “I can’t. You just went through way too much, and I did too. And if we had the time to cool off and be alone for a bit, that’s what I’d do, but we can’t. I don’t have time to reflect. Neither do you. But if we aren’t going to see each other while we’re awaiting trial, then I just need you to know that I think I understand.”</p><p><em> “Waiting for trial </em> isn’t what we should be scared of,” Mikey says.</p><p>“You don’t have to worry about that. We’ll be okay. I know we will be. You’re just going to have to trust me on that.”</p><p>Mikey would say more, but the Girl walks over, holding her cat in her arms. “Jet Star says the authorities are coming to take everyone away,” she says.</p><p>“Yeah, he’s right about that,” Mikey nods.</p><p>“He said there’s a system for deciding if you’re justified or not, but he said he didn’t know how long it would take.”</p><p>“None of us know until it happens,” Mikey says.</p><p>The Girl’s lip twists in reaction as she scowls at the ground. “I don’t like the idea of you guys locked up. It’s too much like the City.”</p><p>“It’s not like that here,” Mikey says. “It’s not as bad.”</p><p>“That doesn’t change the fact that you’ll be leaving me alone with strangers,” she says. “Strangers who have no clue that I really can take care of myself. Nobody but you will take me seriously.”</p><p>There’s a quiet moment that passes.</p><p>“What do you want me to <em> do </em>while you’re gone?” she asks.</p><p>“You don’t have to love whoever they make you stay with,” Mikey says, “but be nice. You’re stronger than anyone’s gonna give you credit for. They’re going to talk down to you, so you’re going to have to anticipate that and let them go on believing they’re doing you a favor.”</p><p>“And then you’ll come back,” she says. “It’ll be alright.”</p><p>The words she says are phrased like a statement, but she clutches at her little black cat and shuffles on her feet and she stares at Mikey with wide eyes, begging for the answer to the question she meant.</p><p>He glances at his brother. Gerard raises his eyebrows.</p><p>“Yeah. It will,” Mikey says.</p><p>The stairwell door is kicked open and dozens of armed soldiers storm the floor, pointing guns and barking orders. Quick to comply, the family puts their hands up. He loses sight when the soldiers rush up to them, obscuring everyone. In the chaos the Girl is swept away, and Mikey is shoved face-first into the ground to be handcuffed.</p><p>But it'll be okay. He believes that now.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>All that's left is the epilogue, now.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading, and please feel free to leave a comment! They make my day &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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